Madness Within
by Jay Motley
Summary: Hermione Granger did not expect to live-and she was not ready to face the Wizardry world as a Muggle-Born with no magic. After committing a defiance against God (and the Ministry), she seeks refuge with unlikely friends. But an unknown link created during her taboo pulls the very people she resurrected to her doorstep. And they are not pleased. (HG, LM, SS, SB, RL)
1. A Prelude

Prelude

"You are a mad woman, Hermione," came a disapproving voice. Lucius Malfoy—in all his blond and wealthy glory—slowly ascended the plateau that nestled deep within the belly of the Ministry of Magic; his emblazoned cane tapped on the stone with every step until his hands came together to rest atop the silver snake head, watching the young woman with caution. His eyes rolled around the mess of large and worn tombs open at her feet, his mouth slightly parting in realization. "They are _Ancient _Runes for a reason!"

Hermione, clad in her pencil skirt and cream top—fresh off of work—continued her ministrations with her back to him. Her bell-like laughter tinkled off the stone walls as she paused for a moment, turning and offering him a rare smile.

"Ah, so it takes a mad woman for you to finally speak my name," she said simply, before returning to her work. Lucius glared at the back of her head as he drew closer to her, eyes roving over the lost markings she carved into the stone, mouthing words here and there of what he understood. She glanced up at him, her head tilted. "You can read these?"

"Not…all…of…them," he replied quietly, still reading, before catching her eye. He was incredibly close; so close, he could smell the coconut product waft from her hair and skin. At any other time, this may have excited him—but Lucius Malfoy was no stranger to death, and that was what was creeping upon this hopeful girl in this moment. Her soft brown eyes locked on his gaze for a moment, her chin up in confidence, before tearing away and carving more ruins into a difficult spot with a grunt. When the man could decipher the half written glyph, panic rose in him, and he uncharacteristically yanked her wrist and caused the blade to fall with a clatter.

"_Malfoy," _sighed the girl. She made to pick up her lost tool only to be held tightly in place by the aristocrat.

"This is a death wish, Hermione. I cannot simply stand by and let you do this," he said, pulling her along with strength she did not know he possessed. She stumbled slightly, her heels caught in the uneven stone floor, before she slipped out from them and found her center. Lucius jerked from her defiance and quickly whipped around on her. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of anger, pain…concern? Hermione wasn't sure, but she yanked her arm free.

"I'm sorry Lucius, but you don't have a say—"

"_I _don't have a say?! You are going to get yourself killed, girl!" he snapped, towering over her. Hermione was sure she had never seen him so emotional, save for last spring…

Running an absent hand over her forehead and hair, Hermione released another sigh of exasperation. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off.

"Do you not hear it, Hermione? It beckons us. The temptation to simply…walk into it, is unlike anything I have ever felt. It is seductive…it—"

"I won't be walking through it."

"Stop being intentionally obtuse!" Lucius closed the space between them once more, calming himself before placing strong hands on her shoulders and lowering his head to see her eye to eye. Hermione felt stunned for a moment by the emotion that boiled behind those steel orbs—but she could not let him deter her. "Hermione, as your friend, please…I beg of you, please don't do this. If you miraculously were to survive, the legal repercussions will end you."

_Friend? _

That was all Hermione could hear from his desperate plea, and she could not stop the smile that graced her, which only widened by the look of confusion on Lucius'. He raised an elegant brow.

"Hermione."

"You could see her again, Lucius," she said softly, placing a small hand atop his and squeezing. "We could have them back—all of them. Draco—"

"Do not bring my son into this, Hermione," Lucius warned, his face becoming even more frustrated. "Draco is an adult—"

"And he needs his mother. And you need your wife," Hermione replied, leaving no room for argument. She stepped back from him a full foot, her hands outstretch before her—Lucius paid no mind, he knew the girl spoke with her hands when flared up. "I'm sorry."

Without warning, his feet were swept from under him, and he hit the plateau rather ungracefully, before a hidden force swiftly pulled him off the stone mound. He swore loudly at the sharp pain before rising to his feet but found himself stone frozen in place as he watched the sight unravel before him.

Lucius watched as the young woman walked barefoot to the ancient arch that loomed the Department of Mysteries; the crude knife danced in her fingers as blood trickled down her arms and elbow, staining her blouse and spotting her feet. She quickly rose her fingers to the runes she carved around the offending veil, which seemed to spring to life with each blood offering—the faint whispers of the afterlife intensified and mixed into mania that echoed through the bare chamber, deafening them both. Lucius finally broke free from whatever enthralled him, sprinting towards her, only to be knocked back by a formidable barrier that shimmered the plateau.

"You will not live!" shouted Lucius, pounding his fist against the invisible shield of magic, causing it to spark with each hit.

Hermione paused for a moment, her thumb hovering over the last carving. She turned to him, giving him a small smile; there was no fear in her eyes—she knew exactly what she was doing. She accepted every and all possibilities that could arise by the mayhem she was causing.

"Take care of each other, Lucius. I'll see you again."

Hermione forcefully ran her bleeding fingers across the final rune and a powerful gust of wind spun through the chamber, sucking the air out along with it. She gasped audibly, unable to breathe, until she heard familiar voices speak from beyond the veil.

_Granger._

_ Hermione._

_ Miss Granger._

_ Who is that?_

_ I dunno_

_ Dear girl_

Hermione smiled through the pain, blinded by the beaming light that shot from beyond the veil. She could no longer hear Lucius' frantic pleas and curses—her mind was at peace knowing she could finally do this for him. For them all. She fought through the impeding blackness that crept at the corners of her eyes, just enough to stretch her arm through the veil of life and death.

Hermione expected icy nothingness and was surprised to feel a radiating warmth touch her skin with the last but of coherence she could muster. Nothing touched her except for that warmth.

_How?_

_ …She is ready to die for us._

_ We can't let her, she's too young._

_ Harry needs her._

_ Draco, too…_

_ She's the girl who kept Harry alive?_

_ I'm staying_

_ She worked so hard though…_

_ I'm staying_

_ I'm staying_

_ I'm staying_

_ You go_

_ No. _

"Someone…anyone…come through," Hermione gasped as she collapsed to her knees. She mustered enough strength to force her other bloodied hand through the veil, though her entire body shook. "Everyone. Come. Stop…arguing…"

_She can hear us?_

_ Stupid girl._

_ She really is the brightest…_

_ I'll miss you_

_ I'll miss you_

_ Goodbye_

_ Stay alive, Hermione_

The last words echoed through Hermione Granger's mind as she pulled herself from the veil and released a horrifying gasp—as if all life withdrew from her—and collapsed upon her disarray of books.

_It's okay, _she thought, _I'm not afraid._

**A/N: Hello there again! I promise I will come back to Ghosts of the Past. I will finish it. I've been living in America again for only 10 months now—so much has happened. Divorce, possible homelessness. What a better distraction than writing? None? Right? Anyway, this came into my head randomly at work a few days ago and I couldn't let the premise go. I have no other chapters written—yet. So let's see where this goes!**


	2. Do you Believe in Magic?

**Do you believe in Magic?**

In a quiet corner of muggle London, Hermione Granger sat at her oak desk surrounded by neatly stacked collapsible folders, all labeled by color and name, adhering to whatever mad legend she organized her work in. She typed away at her keyboard with her now spectacled face mere inches from its screen as she mouthed the last bit of her email under her breath before sending it. She immediately rolled back in her chair with a huff of exhaustion, her face upward to the robin egg colored ceil ing and rubbed the awful kink in her neck gingerly. The office was dark now, save for a salt lamp at the foot of her desk radiating its calming aura; Hermione frowned at the last bit of sunlight that shone through her window. _He's going to be upset that I stayed so late again…_

"Why are you still here?" came a voice from the doorway. Hermione grinned sheepishly at her superior here at Singh, Khan & Associates. The older woman chewed on an apple as she lazily leaned against the door frame. "It's nearly seven."

"Same reason as you, Meera. Just trying to keep our workload under control while your sister is on maternity leave," said Hermione as she slipped her heels back onto swollen feet with a wince.

"You're a godsend, Hermione. Have a good weekend. I'll lock the door."

Hermione laughed and gave her thanks as she began packing her things back into her purse, eyes scouring for anything she was missing or out of place. Before leaving the office, she did one more once over.

_Locked windows. Check. Coffeemaker off. Check. Li—_

A buzz from her purse stopped her mental checklist and she struggled with her belongings—and work she was obviously bringing home—to fish it out. She quickly opened it to a text message starting with an angry devil face.

YOU'RE LATE. GET YOUR ASS HOME AND EAT SOMETHING.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a scoff. _He could be so annoying… Thank god his father doesn't use cellphones. _She made to slip her cell into her purse for it only to clank against the wooden floors; sucking her teeth, she bent to get it but felt a nauseating rush filled her body to her ears as she stood again. She felt hot all of a sudden and groaned audibly. Maybe she _was_ working too much. Sighing, she made her way downstairs.

"Of course, it's raining again," she sighed to herself as she waited at the exit of her law office, looking in the distance for her cab. She looked at the clock on the wall: _Twelve minutes late. _Headlights then flickered against the stone building and Hermione darted out in the monsoons, her heels now dangling from her fingertips dangerously. Tossing her stuff into the back seat and scooting herself in, she met the cabby's eyes in the rearview mirror, a small scowl on her face.

"Sorry Missus. The usual?"

"Yes, please. Home."

Ignoring the dozens of buzzes vibrating in her purse during her longer-than-usual commute home, Hermione tipped her cabby and trotted towards salvation. She slowed a little and a warm smile pulled at her mouth when she saw the dim embers of the fireplace illuminate the front windows. She loved her home—_their _home; ivy snaked alongside the brown stones, climbing for the sky before halting just below the chimney; she loved the many white framed windows that peered from its front and the emerald door that greets her every day. She was especially thankful that it was a manageable distance from all the hustle and bustle but close enough to commute easily in the mornings.

She fumbled through the door and her files spun out onto the floor, causing her heels to drop with a thud.

"_Damnit!"_

"Language, Granger," came a teasing voice. Before Hermione could say anything, Draco crouched to neatly slide the paperwork into their corresponding folders, having learned her color coded and numeric legend she assigned all her work. He easily organized her mayhem and frowned at the last bit of it. "O'Conner, still? What are those two fighting over now?"

Hermione laughed. "A parrot."

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging and making an empathetic face. He stood tall like a tower, not as scrawny or arrogant as their school years; gone was the gaunt and haunted face she was so familiar with, and in its place a healthy, glowing one full of life. His jaw broadened as well as his shoulders, though his frame lithe and nimble, and his slick hair was combed back into a neat pompadour. He even had a small stud pierced in one ear—something his father did _not _approve of. Hermione had to admit that he was classically handsome but found his changed personality over the years even more noteworthy.

"You know, I texted you a bunch of times," Draco said in a rather scolding tone as he shook his phone in one hand and pointed at her purse, firmly holding her work files under his arm.

"I know, I'm sorry—but hey! At least it's Friday!"

"And yet you brought work home." Draco sucked his teeth and grabbed her black heels, making way through the cozy hall. His tailored suit and slick brogues clashed drastically with the aged wood of the old home, and it was strange to see him so at ease in a rather rugged place, so unlike the manor. It was nearly three years since _that _day in the Department of Mysteries; three years since the Malfoys uprooted her life in the most Malfoy way possible, through strings of shady muggle and magic liaisons, burned paper trails and transactions—the entire ordeal was exhausting for the then depleted twenty-seven-year-old. She was grateful though, however strenuous the life of hiding became, and was more than surprised at how easily Lucius and Draco Malfoy slipped into the cracks of her routines and daily life, even while they skirted between muggle England for her and the wizarding world on behalf of business—and, obviously, showing face. There was much distrust and suspicion against Lucius when Hermione disappeared from St Mungo's that most of the underhanded dealing to export her from the magic community was left in Draco's hands; the aurors detained Malfoy Sr with Potter and Weasley cross examining him to no avail—Lucius even willingly took Veritaserum to cease the allegations (however true they _technically _were). He had lucked out that his whim of secret keeping Hermione Granger's current and future location was protected during the truth serum, and allowed himself rare boisterous laughter when he later caught up to Hermione and Draco; Hermione was not pleased in the slightest, and could still recall the rage she felt at Lucius' rather Gryffindor impulsivity at the time and hadn't spoken to him in days.

The smell of shepherd's pie pulled Hermione from her brief nostalgia, nose flaring as she inhaled and her stomach rumbling with hunger. She quickly caught up to Draco nearing the kitchen, her mind enthralled by the aroma and thoughts lingering between here and there—she wondered where Lucius was.

_Three years…_

An absent-minded Hermione walked into Draco's back as he stopped, causing the remainder of her hoardings to stumble to the floor and her cellphone to shatter on impact. Its cracked screen flickered for a moment before going black. Hermione groaned and slid down the wall as she pressed clammy hands to her overheated face.

"God, I never missed my magic so much."

_Three years since Hermione Granger became a muggle. _

**A/N: So much of this is impromptu and I'm okay with that for once, haha! I've had a stressful week, so I came straight here to write some more. I'm not sure how updates will be so bear with me…and I should probably finish that other fic too… Thanks for all the feedback!**


	3. Between Malfoys

**Between Malfoys**

Draco sighed and slid down the wall beside the woman he considered his best friend. He watched as her brow knitted and lip curved in impending emotional break down, and swatted her hands away when she attempted to cover up her face.

"Hey, don't do that. It's okay, Hermione," he muttered quietly, pressing her hands down to her lap and dipping his head to catch her eye. Unshed tears of frustration lingered there and, were he the same boy he was years ago, he would have immediately fled the premises without so much as a glance back; however, as it were, he grew from the emotional stint that was three decades of his life, and he had almost all of that improvement thanks to the exhausted woman beside him. "I don't mean to invalidate your feelings—you've clearly had a rough week—but you do tend to get like this when you've overworked yourself. Straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak."

His tone was so matter-of-fact as he used such a muggle phrase that Hermione slung her head back against the wall and laughed airily at him amidst her turmoil. He blinked at her, rubbing his neck absently.

"I didn't use that phrase correctly, did I?"

"No, no, you were perfect," said Hermione. With long sigh she hoisted herself up and stretched over the mess on the floor, her stomach growling impatiently. "Where is Lucius?"

Draco was about to answer her when the front door creaked open and the devil himself crossed the threshold; removing his cloak and hanging it on a hook, Lucius' face was tight in thought as he began loosening his cuffs and rolling them, then paused as he caught sight of the mess in the hall and his wards peaking their heads from the kitchen island. He raised one elegant brow as he stalked down the hall towards them.

"Bad day at the office?" he offered lightly.

"She just got home—ow!"

"_Ferret!"_

Lucius' brow extended further, his face impassive, and he leaned lazily against the entry to the kitchen with his arms crossed. Draco could feel Hermione fidget beside him and smirked at his father; boy, did they love to make their favorite Gryffindor squirm. She finally lost it and pointed a scolding finger at the older man with the other hand on her hip.

"Listen, Lucius—you too, Draco—I am almost thirty. I have to make a living. I love what I do," she began her tirade. Lucius and his son exchanged quick amused looks over the riled-up cub in their snake pit. It was honestly too easy. "The two of you come and go as you please, and other than you, I have nothing else besides my work. You didn't fenagle a crossover degree for me in the muggle world for no reason, you know."

Lucius heard enough. He sat on a bar stool at the island, his steel eyes peering at her from over linked fingers. Hermione would never get use to the domestication of the two Malfoys before her, even if they've lived this was for three years. She really looked at the man then: his eyes were tired, and not in the sagging and bruised way; the snowy orbs held little light, out of focus and not nearly as piercing. It clenched at Hermione's heartstrings and she immediately felt her annoyance dissipate in an instant.

"Lucius—"

"I am not trying to control you, Hermione," said Lucius in an even tone. This was not a new argument that these oak walls heard. "I would never overstep that boundary, rest assured. However, you have run yourself to the ground around this time every year since you sought refuge. It is not healthy, and you are without magic—travelling back here at night is dangerous."

"I am not new to the muggle world. I grew up here, remember?" Hermione argued quietly. She felt the adrenaline dissipating from her body, the drop following soon after; she breathed in deeply as her head grew foggier and cheeks burned as if she were standing before a flame. _Was the heat on blast? God…_

"Did you hear me?" said Lucius a little more sternly.

"Hm?"

Lucius sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Nevermind. Let us dine then talk more later. I'm sure you're famished."

Hermione nodded and padded around the island, grabbing Lucius' hand and squeezing gently before crouching to clean her fallen mess.

"We will get that," said Lucius, his eyes falling on the shattered phone. "We can get you a new one tomorrow."

"Lucius—"

He held up a hand to silence her, a vague playfulness dancing in his eyes. "No arguments, Miss Granger. It is your birthday tomorrow, after all."

Hermione knew there was no arguing with Lucius Malfoy when it came to shopping. From the stories she had heard over the years, he had no qualms about dropping money, and that his late wife often disapproved of his pricey excursions regardless of their infinite wealth. She smiled to herself as she reminisced of the witty banter she played witness to at Malfoy Manor dinners before Narcissa's passing; years after the war, when Hermione became an active member in the Ministry, she had encountered the poised woman first on several encounters in passing whenever Narcissa visited Draco for lunch at his department: a few light elevator trips between floors, a wave in the hallway, until Narcissa invited her along. Hermione was caught off guard by the unexpected well of affection buried within the noble woman—an affection Mrs. Malfoy quickly spread over the young muggle-born witch. Soon after, Hermione found herself split between the Burrow and Manor for holidays, well fed by both families and welcomed.

Hermione was sure it was some self-serving redemption for the unspoken torture she experienced under the older woman's roof; she treaded carefully at first, wary of Lucius especially, but that soon dissolved once he gifted her with access to the family library. It was an immediate ice breaker, and she knew it was a well-planned and intended olive branch which she happily accepted—she and Draco even read together and lightly bickered within the nooks and pews of massive tomes.

Such bloomed the friendship between Hermione Granger and the Malfoys.

As she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, she stopped several steps up to gaze at the gold picture frames that hung along the wall. She was turning thirty tomorrow, and although she loved the Malfoys very much, there was an unidentifiable longing that pulled Hermione's heart into her gut. It was always there, she supposed, creeping up and tugging whenever life got a little rough. There were photos with her parents before she boarded the Hogwarts express, her buck tooth smile some found endearing years later; her eyes rolled over to a time long ago with Harry and Ron carving pumpkins at Hagrid's hut, covered in gourd guts and a blurry Fang bounding towards them; the Potter's and Weasley's weddings where Hermione played dutiful maid of honor in both. It was the Malfoy's favorite photo of her, with her one dimple caved in as she happily laughed beside her best mates and family. Hermione realized she hadn't made any friends since leaving the wizarding world and she was not sure if she was okay with that or not. When she left, she immediately flung herself into work in fear of losing herself completely since her biggest failure to date; she tucked all those feelings of ostracization and loneliness away into neat cerebral boxes labelled _Do Not Open, Ever!, _and lived as a muggle since.

_Loneliness? Is that what this is?, _she thought as she paused at a rather overcrowded picture at Grimmauld place. The Weasley clan's bright red hair burned brightly, but between the gingers stood a few others that pained Hermione to see: the rugged face of Sirius Black with youthful eyes twinkling in amusement, armed wrapped around his godson; Remus Lupin's soft smile and elbow digging into his best mate's side and the blur of Severus Snape in the far doorway. She laughed internally, remembering how hard it was to wrangle up everyone to snag this photo and the scowl Snape gave her at such a ridiculous request; she remembered how excited she was to take it with a muggle polaroid her parents at gotten her for Christmas her fourth year, promising them a photo of all the amazing (and quite quirky) people Hermione shared her magical life with.

Feeling her mental boxes tearing at the seams from the weight of it all, Hermione blinked away the threat of tears and found her reflection in the gold sun-shaped mirror that hung amongst the still photos. Her hair was falling from the neat chignon she often wore, mascara smeared under heavy eyes, still wet from the downpour outside; her cheeks were rosy and hot, and she could feel her pulse beating hard in her ears with every heavy breath she took. She felt—and _looked—_awful. But something in the mirror caught her eye; distorted reflections of three figured wrapped in each other, hands violently grabbing collars and vibrating, incomprehensible echoes of yells meeting her ears. _I've gone mad…what the- _

"What's up, Granger?" came Draco's voice from the hall. She turned slightly to see him and his father looking at her curiously through the rail. He sounded so distant as her eyes fought to focus on their blurred figures.

"Hermione?" asked Lucius, his voice urgent. He widened and quickened his strides once she leaned haphazardly against the wall but was not fast enough. Hermione collapsed hard to her knees on the wood stairs, her body falling forward with her failed attempt to catch herself and causing photos to fly off to shatter below her. Her head collided with the wall with a heavy thud as her sick body began to tumble down the stairs. Hermione's world went black, and all fell silent.


	4. Grimmauld Place

_**Grimmauld Place**_

__To say a lot had changed at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place would be quite the understatement. The generations old home, once filled with disdain and neglect, held new life within it—both figuratively and literally. Yes, gone was the dark wallpaper and dreary interior, and gone were the elephant umbrella stand and house-elf wet specimens, and enter a home full of half-blood laughter and blood traitors. Mistress Black would be _reeling _in her grave if she saw the disgrace that befell her gaudy home and favorite house elf.

Lucky for the Potter family, someone _finally _managed to remove the old hag's last remnant that haunted the place and replaced it with a large family portrait. Even with children, the house was tremendously quieter without the blood purity slurs being slung at every chance by the portrait of Walburga Black.

Now, James and Albus Potter whined over enchanted spelling blocks on the living room floor while their mother watched her daughter's every move to catch her first steps; Ginny was thrilled to the moon—as was her father—when Harry gifted her an outdated video camera to record their lives the muggle way. She was desperate to successfully film Lily's firsts, having forgotten to press the very important red button on the device for both her son's special moments, which ultimately caused a very emotional Ginny to burst into tears. It was short lived, and she was determined to conquer the electronic.

"Lil—Lily, this way, butterball," cooed Ginevra Potter in her mommy-est voice to date. Harry shook his head at her as he wrangled their sons, his glasses nearly flying off his nose from a wild toddler arm flailing.

"Did you just call our daughter fat?" he laughed. Ginny shrugged.

"She's so adorable with all those rolls. I could eat her up," she answered, the device practically glued to her face as she took small steps backwards to tempt her daughter to her. "Her birthday was just a few weeks ago and she's only walked once."

"It'll happen Gin, don't worry," replied Harry rather gruffly as Al began whining louder than usual. "Gin—"

"I got him, I got him!" came a stuffy voice. Teal hair rounded the corner with a hop, arms reaching high to gently pull the terrible two-year-old from his father's grasp, who did not let down without a fight as he threw a toy block, missing his captor's head. Azure turned sandy in a flicker as he placed Albus on his feet, a frown marring his soft features. "You have to learn how to share, Al. Isn't that right, Uncle Harry?"

Teddy Lupin was an extraordinary boy. He was so much of his mother and father as a living, daily breath of fresh air; he was intuitive and empathetic beyond his years, gentle with those around him and brave for all underdogs. Harry smiled lovingly down at his godson, burning the memory of this young boy's uncanny kindness into his mind, a little sad.

If he was truthful, the little Lupin reminded him mostly of _her._

Harry shook the invasive thought from his head, looking over his wife and children with a melancholy smile. Everything was perfect. Almost.

"Harry?" came Teddy's cautious voice as he stepped a little closer to his Godfather. Harry crouched before him and hugged him.

"You're always so good, Teddy. Never stop being good," Harry said simply. When he pulled away his heart nearly jumped from his chest as Teddy's sandy hair flashed cerulean for a split moment before short chocolate curls sprung from his head, his eyes bright like honey. Teddy gave a small smile.

"I miss her too," the boy muttered quietly.

"What are we talking about?" came a voice. Harry stood and felt a rush of relief at the sight of them, and a slight growl of his stomach when he smelled this favorite curry dish permeate their bags.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin stood in the foyer in relatively muggle clothes, their hair splayed against their head from the rain they obviously got caught in despite being told the forecast by Ginny earlier. Sirius donned a muggle band tee he and Harry had bonded over with leather jacket, something reflective of his lost youth, whereas Remus was as comfortable as ever in a henley and trousers—except he was completely soaked, his shirt clinging to him and dripping, with zero protection from the weather.

"Should have brought a jacket, mate," Sirius commented nonchalantly with a shrug.

"It's nearing the moon. I'm running too hot right now to wear a jacket," Remus grumbled slightly. Sirius nodded, knowingly.

"Dad! Snuffles! You're finally home!"

Remus laughed, shaking his head wildly as the cold rain splattered over his son, causing the young boy to dramatically seek cover.

"Teddy, we—"

Remus' voice faded as both he and Sirius laid eyes on the young metamorphmagus and his wild locks and familiar look. The werewolf's mouth parted slightly before exchanging looks with his friend who shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat.

"Ah, Teddy, you look so much like me with those curls! You flatter an old man!" eased Sirius as he laid his takeout on the coffee table. He pulled a coil, watching it bounce into place, his eyes flickering with something neither Harry nor Remus could place. He was telling some truth: looking at young Teddy like this, who looked so much like his dear cousin, was really like looking into a looking glass to his past—but, undoubtedly slow, he knew who the boy favored at the moment. "What about that blue hair, though? I think it was rather rebellious, and you know how I feel about rebels". He offered him a wink.

Teddy's sweet features cracked into a smirk rival to that of all the Marauders combined, his hair quickly flashing back to bright, and it truly brought great joy to Sirius Black. Mostly because he knew how frazzled the lycan will be once his son becomes a teen, and Sirius couldn't help encouraging the Lupin pup along; of course, _somebody _had to be the good cop one day.

"There it is!" exclaimed Sirius with a laugh, and the tension in the room immediately evaporated. Sirius was good like that: he gauged people and situations like a true empath, reading cues and body language like a professional and knowing just exactly what to say. He was genuine—_raw—_and could probably talk anyone back from the edge of disaster. It's what Remus appreciated the most about his best friend. It was a quality that, despite years in Azkaban and death, Sirius held onto and nurtured in their recent years amongst the living.

Three years to the day, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin—along with _that _man—found themselves standing in Death Chamber in the belly of the Department of Mysteries with the whispers from the Veil touching their backs; the voices urged them back, they could feel it even without understanding them. The men's minds were foggy and searching as if trying to remember a dream that slipped away the more they thought of it, and were greeted by a group of Aurors whom were frozen in place at the cosmos defying sight before them. Sirius and Remus had stepped over blood and ancient books, which were mysteriously bare, and grasped at one another as if it was the first time they met. Sirius had begun laughing hysterically, clapping his friend on the shoulders and nearly kissing him on the cheek before the timid man side stepped from the assault. The shaggy man didn't mind; it only intensified his laughter, which stirred Remus', and before long the voices of the great beyond were drowned out by great joy and love. The only thing that sobered their madness was the voice of Harry Potter, broken and disbelieving, older and even a little grey with his DMLE glimmering, and sight of him stumbling up the plateau. They met each other with tears.

Soon after, they were discreetly brought to St Mungo's and briefed on the happenings of that taboo night. They slowly remembered the bright witch before them and the outpouring love and life she offered the Veil; they remembered being embraced by her energy, feeding on it, and her distant voice calling them. It was surreal; it was like a dream and continues to bring them some kind of warmth three years later. Still…

Hermione Granger sacrificed herself for them.

Whether she was dead or alive, no one knew. She simply…vanished. She vanished from her bed at the hospital only a door from their own, where Remus caught a brief sight of her curls when pushed by. He wanted to talk to her; he wanted to scold her, and hug her, and make sure she was okay. He remembered hearing nothing from her room: not a spoken word, not a cry, not a scream. It put him on edge more than anything else, but he was patient. Sirius on the other hand… between preventing him from plummeting their roommate or escaping the room to check on Hermione, Remus knew at the time he had to be the voice of reason.

But, three years later, he regretted rationalizing the impossible. He should have followed his heart. Remus should have let Sirius drag him out the room by his hospital gown and make sure that their savior was alive.

Within twelve hours of their rebirth, Hermione Granger was gone from their lives. But the world had to continue.

Remus caught Sirius' omnipotent fair eyes that hid much emotion behind them. For the last three years, the pair coasted on a fairly equal wavelength that was almost uncanny; they fell in step in each other's lives in a symbiotic way. Remus knew he would not have been able to adjust to life again—especially as a widower and single father—were it not for Sirius and Harry. Nothing felt more sweet and warmer than the life they all built at Grimmauld Place.

Except…

"Remus," said Harry, pulling the werewolf from his thoughts. Lupin's eyes found the young man's and offered him an apologetic smile. "Everyone will be here in a few hours. Are you okay to do this so close to the moon?"

Remus nodded. "Of course, I will be, Harry. Tomorrow's her birthday after all."

Sirius could not quite place how his magic felt for the past few years. His body sometimes felt like it wasn't his own, and his power felt as if it rolled under his flesh like waves on the beach, caressing and pushing against his nerve endings, before pulling away with the tide. He found it intriguing and it thrilled him; it felt like a calling, but to where, he was not sure. This anticipation drove him every day. He looked forward to the gentle caress of magic he felt within himself; it kept him company during his darkest nights he lay sleepless from nightmares.

He wondered if Remus felt it too. It intensified whenever they were together, especially during the moon in their animal forms where Sirius felt closest to the energies of the world.

Sirius had retreated to one of the bathrooms to dry up and change before the Weasley clan invaded their home. He stared at himself shirtless in the large mirror, tracing his tattoos that had faded like newspaper and absently rested his hand over the spot Bellatrix had cursed him before falling through the Veil—it's what he often had nightmares about. He could feel the searing pain and hear the maniac laughter of his twisted cousin, and dream-Sirius would anticipate his loss of balance before it happened yet could not prevent it. He would watch himself fall through the Veil between here and the beyond before waking up in a pool of his own sweat. On those nights, which are more often than he cared to admit, he would lay motionless in bed for hours simply staring at the crimson ceiling, begging his limbs to break free of paralysis or his mind to shut off and sleep.

Shaking his head, Sirius swore under his breath before pressing a hot cloth to his face and prepped his shaving ritual; he really was very shaggy, Remus was right to call him the wolfman a few days ago. He snorted at that. He supposed he managed to live a married life, after all. Who needs a wife when you have a Moony and so many Potters running amuck?

"Teddy would not let go of the idea if I made that joke aloud," Sirius sang to himself as he brought the straight blade to his cheek, quietly chuckling.

"You need a haircut, Black! I can't tell if you're Snuffles or Sirius anymore but all I know is I better not find a lifted leg to any furniture!" came Ginny's voice from down the hall. He had to pull the blade from his face to laugh. He adored Ginny, her resiliency and self-assurance so much like Lily, but her tongue _way _quicker; he sometimes felt sorry for Harry (in between guffaws, mind you) who was often the victim of Ginny's witty comebacks and jokes, but he quickly figured out that his godson found that quality alone very endearing of the tomboyish woman.

Sirius fought with his hair a bit; the rain made it a little untamable. Remus suddenly appeared through his door to the shared bathroom, earning himself a glare from. Sighing, Moony lifted his hands in defeat. "I'll just use the extra loo. Don't give me that look. You are taking too long."

Sirius said nothing but did some self-reflecting. Why did he feel more on edge tonight? Did Remus not, even so close to the moon? Sirius felt like he was about to jump out of his skin, as if small bugs crawled over his body and bit him.

_You probably have fleas again, _he imagined Moony would say. But fleas didn't excite him like this.

Thirty minutes later, Sirius met with the rest of his family downstairs in the living room. He wore a white button up, sleeves rolled to reveal his fading tattoos, and dark denim trousers with his best boots, He managed to neatly pull his locks back with only a few tendrils loose on his face and oiled his goatee. Remus donned his nicest green sweater and grey slacks, and his son the same. Teddy was often black or white with his tastes; he either had his wild hair, disheveled jean jacket and leather boots on or soft sweaters and flannel. He truly was a product of his environment. Sirius held no regrets.

Before they knew it, the Floo came to life, and head after head popped out from the flames like a never-ending clown car. A greying Molly and Arthur Weasley came through first, followed by Ron and Luna, George and Angelina, Bill and young Victoire, Neville Longbottom, and, finally, Minerva McGonagall. Sirius could visibly see Remus release a relieved breath and rose his eyebrows at him as if saying _You're telling me, mate. _Crowds still made them both a little tightly wound, but they were especially relieved when that _he_—

The Floo blazed once more, and Severus Snape emerged from the fireplace and stood full height, his usual cold face cool and collected.

"Snape," was all Remus said. Sirius swore before bounding after Remus as the highly sensitive and agitated werewolf made strides towards the snake in their pack.

**A/N: I know I know, last chapter I mentioned some technology that wouldn't have been really in use if thinking of the proper timeline. I'm hoping you can still enjoy it despite that small fact. This chapter was written a few hours after I posted the last, due to insomnia and multiple cups of coffee I had today. **


	5. Sleeping Serpents

**Sleeping Serpents **

Grimmauld Place required a lot of love and elbow grease to have become the welcoming home it was now. Through layers of cobwebs, it took a very long time to rid the house of boggarts and lingering dark magic, but it was all worth it to add rooms, coat vibrant paint in each, and expand the dining. It still played role to the Order of the Phoenix—however less demanded the organization, thankfully, grew to be—but Harry just could not let it be uninhabited other than meetings after everything. Some of his favorite memories were in this place. He wanted to create more.

When Harry thought of creating memories, he pictured laughing children, teasing teens and stolen kisses; he imagined tacky Christmas decorations and family PJ's, exploding snaps and howlers. He romanticized growing old with his wife, wrinkled from too much laughter and smiling, until one day he would slip from this world to the next and see his family again.

Harry did _not_, however_, _imagine a royal rumble between former rivals-turn-death-mates-turn-resurrected-triad ensuing in his living room.

He definitely did not expect gentle and kind Remus Lupin to throw the first punch.

Someone rushed the children away to the kitchen as the rest of the adults shouted for the men to stop. Remus grabbed the dark man quickly at the collar, twisting it as he pulled his fist back and collided into his cheek. Both men stumbled against the fireplace with a loud thud, grunts escaping their lips; Severus recovered quickly and rose full height, pushing Remus from him before closing their distance again. Unluckily, Sirius inserted himself between the two and found himself knocked in the head by Snape's unexpected which caused him to tumble forward. Remus' nostrils flared and an animalistic growl escape his teeth, eyes flashing gold before springing forward again.

"Oy, mate! Stand _down!" _shouted Sirius, ignoring the throbbing pain at the back of his skull as he tried to wrangle the beastly man.

"You have some nerve, Snape."

Severus smirked unkindly at the two. He ran a calloused thumb over his lip where blood trickled and sneered. He carried himself differently, not nearly as stoic as the man they all once knew. His hair was medium length, wavy and healthy, a smart beard and mustache framing his angular features; his stature was broad and domineering, exuding a confidence unlike his former self. He was almost striking.

Severus rose his hands in a shrug with mock innocence playing at his face. "Potter invited me, of course. How could I refuse birthday cake in honor of our _dear _savior, however naïve and incompetent she may be?"

Snape sounded anything but grateful. Venom dripped from his last words as his eyes darkened. Remus lunged again but collided with Sirius who was quicker; the animagus shoved Snape against the mantel, his face impassive and lips tight despite the fire burning deep in his belly. He could tolerate Severus Snape, but the git's antagonizing words yet nonreactive actions brought his blood to a boil.

"Do…_not _speak of Hermione," warned Sirius in a deadly tone, not releasing his hand from Snape's person just yet. He kept Remus at bay with his other and he could feel the beast writhing under the man's sweater. It was not quite safe to release him, either. "You should leave."

"But Sirius—"

"Harry," sighed Sirius, running an absent hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "You should have let us know."

Ginny stepped from the kitchen then, arms crossed with a disapproving look on her face. Like most women, she had the keen skill to make people feel their deserved shame. "You guys know we invite him every year. This is for Hermione."

"Yes, but that was before he decided to write a damn _book _about us all and insult her!" snapped an impatient Remus. The room fell silent. His inner wolf dared anyone to defy him; he could feel the beast and testosterone pump through his veins, creating an inferno within him. Sweat drenched his back as his temperature rose under his favorite knit.

"It is not insulting when it is the truth, Lupin," sneered Snape. His façade cracked and his true self began oozing through. He stepped forward, his chest pressed against Sirius' still offending hand, and gave the wolfman a cruel smile. "Hermione Granger was not brilliant nor beyond her years. She was arrogant. She was swotty. She was foolish. She tampered with magic she should not have, and it cost her _everything. _A waste."

Both Sirius and Remus lost their wits about them entirely. Sirius made to tackle Snape as the werewolf rose a fist once more.

Suddenly, a great fire burned within the men, raging through their bones and nerves like the pits of hell. They halted with a jerk before simultaneously falling to the floor, grasping their heads in throbbing pain as images as distorted visions of a house unknown to them and vague faces spun in their minds' eye.

"Sirius! Remus!"

"What the hell!"

Sirius mustered enough strength to lift his head to see both Snape and Remus struggling to stand, as if some massive force kept them all on their knees. Through the heat, Sirius could feel the familiar anticipation from the last few years crawl over his skin and pull at his belly button. His breath hitched as excitement jittered in his bones, a laugh of disbelief escaping his lips. Without thinking, he made to grab Snape and Remus, but when he met their eyes again, they all disappeared from each other's sight with a _pop!_

The room was quiet.

"What…the hell just happened…" Ron said with a gape. He turned to Luna who, unsurprisingly, had a soft smile playing at her lips.

"We should save them some cake," she said softly. She inhaled and hummed with pleasure. "Mmm, Hermione's favorite."

The world spun and before he knew it, Sirius found himself landing ungracefully in the small courtyard of a welcoming looking home with giant windows staring out at him. He was slightly nauseous and groaned as he leaned against the nearest to him, only to be met with the ground.

"What the fuck, mate!" snapped Sirius. He glared up to find Snape glancing down at him. The Slytherin huffed agitatedly before storming away from him. Remus helped his friend to his feet, looking a bit green himself. They gazed up at the house before them, dim light creating sweat on the window glass; they realized Snape was walking towards the emerald door. "Oy, Snape, what do you think you're doing?"

Severus paused and slowly turned to them, only a few feet away, his face unreadable.

"You felt it, did you not? That heat, that fear…" he quietly said. He received no answer from the two least favorite people he has ever known, which pulled a frustrated sigh from his lungs. "You cannot tell me you haven't felt…_different _since we have been back. Unusual bouts of anxiety, crippling exhaustion, fluctuations in mood. I was sure it was just side effects of being resurrected but…"

"It's like feeling someone else's life," Sirius deadpanned, earning himself a raised brow from both men. Their silence said enough. "Something pulled us here. I don't remember even _thinking_ to apparate."

"But…" Remus began, but trailed off as his nostrils flared again, filling his lungs entirely before audibly exhaling. He was still for a moment and Sirius and Snape exchanged tight looks. The moon wasn't for another few days…

"Moony? We should leave."

Remus did not hear him. He sidestepped around Sirius, not paying attention to Severus as the snake touched his wand in anticipation, and slowly treaded the short distance of the courtyard. They could hear him sniff, and sniff, and sniff until he approached the door where he slowly inhaled around the frame. Sirius swore under his breath and quickly made his way to his curious friend.

"_Moony!" _Sirius hissed lowly. "You can't just go sniffing people's doors. This is muggle territory." He turned back to Snape. "A little help would be appreciated!" Snape opened his mouth to probably shoot something nasty back to Sirius but was interrupted by the soft whimpers that escaped Remus' mouth; it was almost heartbreaking and pathetic. Sirius laid a gentle hand on the unstable man's arm and tugged him ever so lightly, another hand coming atop sandy hair with a pat.

"Come along, Moony. We have to go home."

Remus grumbled and slipped his arm out of Sirius' grasp and began jiggling the door handle.

"Oy!"

"God damnit, Lupin."

Remus stepped back from the door and threw his head back as a sad, piercing howl that brewed in his chest broke free and echoed through the silent night. Sirius quickly placed a hand over his friend's mouth and tugged him along, grateful he didn't put up too much of a fight, though he did struggle a bit. Remus was exceptionally stronger during this phase: a lot more on edge, temperamental…hormonal. Sirius had seen it all—except something like this. There was heartache rooted in the long howl his friend emitted and it tugged at his own heartstrings. He contemplated transforming into Snuffles to better guide the wolfman though thought better of it considering the prickly company and possible muggles around.

As he ushered the whimpering man away from the home, Sirius did not fail to see the faint gold that glowed in Remus' iris, and tried to keep as cool as possible; he did not want the wolf inside to feel his anxiety and spring to life to claim form so soon. He looked up at Snape with a begrudging look as he felt the heat rise in his body again and exhaustion impede; he wondered if Remus also felt this, if that was why it was a little easier to tame his wolf. He stopped short for a minute when he realized Snape's face was screwed up in what looked like a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"That _damn _blonde snake," he heard Snape hiss to himself, but before he could question him, the dark man swept by and charged for the door.

"Snape, what the hell?"

Severus paid him no mind, raising his wand at the ready as he moved to knock on the door. Before he managed to assault the emerald paint, the door creaked open quickly and out descended Lucius Malfoy with his son in tow. At the sight of yet another untrusted individual, Sirius nearly let Moony drop as he stumbled over some of the cobblestone —he was _truly _confused now; Moony suddenly sprung to life again, standing tall, the threatening gold orbs dissipating to his familiar eyes once more. He ran a shaky hand over his mussed-up hair and released what sounded like a sigh of relief and light laughter. Sirius' brows knitted in confusion until Remus' face broke into a large smile, eyes glimmering with something unspoken. Sirius was about to ask him what the hell kind of madness was going on until his heart began playing a fanfare erratically against his rib cage and that familiar tug pulled around his navel. He could hear his pulse throb in his ears.

Lucius and Snape were quietly arguing a few feet away from them, the blonde's hand atop his friend's weaponized one, pushing it down into submission. Lucius spoke passionately, his hair in a bit of a disarray around him and face growing closer to the raven-haired man, who took a step back. The door suddenly creaked again, and everyone's eyes snapped to it.

"Lucius, what's going on?"

Remus laughed again beside Sirius and muttered to himself, "She's alive."

"Hermione?"

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your amazing feedback! I've been writing a chapter every day right now but that will definitely not last. I'm really happy with it so far and all the ideas that have been coming my way. We aim to please.**


	6. The Raven

**The Raven**

_Somewhere, London_

Lucius scraped his knuckles on the wooden stairs as he leapt forth to catch Hermione's fainted form. He cradled her in his arms and rose to his feet once more—she was on fire! He could feel her fever through her clothes, her clammy skin hard to grasp. Hermione's face rested against his shirt, dirtying it with her make-up, and he could feel the heat radiate from her cheeks. He swore under his breath as he adjusted her and ascending the stairs.

"Draco, water and cloth," Lucius directed. Draco didn't miss a beat as he followed his father quickly up the stairs, splitting away as one went to bathroom and the other to Hermione's bedroom. Lucius opened the door with his foot and was assaulted with the scent so distinct to Hermione: coconut everything, like laying in a beach somewhere tropical, with warm undertones of vanilla swirled in. He laid her gently in her bed, placing her under her layers of comforters she always slept with, and pushed away the wild curls that stuck to her sweating brow; shadows cast from her candles danced across her face and mauve walls before Lucius blew them out, leaving them in darkness other than the half-moonlight that shone.

Lucius kicked off his shoes and gently slid into the bed beside Hermione once he saw her trembling. He wrapped his arms around her and partially pulled the young woman against his chest, pushing her damp hair back. Her breathing was slightly labored as she muttered under her breath something incomprehensible.

"Shh, now, Hermione. You need to break this fever," he whispered softly to her. Her brows knitted as she pouted pathetically, pulling from him slightly. He tightened his grasp. "I know it's hot, darling, but only for a little while."

Draco nimbly entered the room with a ceramic bowl filled with water and damp cloth; he met his father's eyes briefly, and he could see the concern brewing behind them. Gently, he laid the cloth across Hermione's forehead and smiled lightly when she hummed approvingly. They stayed silent there for a few months, watching her; Draco had this irrational fear of making sure she was still breathing whenever this happened—most likely trauma from experiencing her lifeless form in the Death Chamber three years prior.

Draco broke the silence first. "She gets sick so easily since she lost her magic."

Lucius closed his eyes briefly, nodding. He realized that, too.

"I wondered if perhaps our bodies are stronger against some sicknesses as magical beings," said Lucius as he adjusted the cloth on her forehead. "Perhaps it protects us in ways we never thought. Without her magic, Hermione is…more susceptible to things as a muggle."

He almost said weak. Hermione Granger was anything but weak, as she has proved countless times since she was a mere child. She harbored more than that just pesky Gryffindor courage: Hermione was strength. Hermione was pure, unadulterated compassion and sense of duty—though often lacked some serious boundaries. Lucius never saw her as weak, even during his Death Eater days; he would never admit it, but he had admired her tenacity for a long time.

They grew silent again, regarding each other contemplatively. Draco and Lucius' decades long strained relationship only began strengthening a few years ago and if they were honest, they knew it was in part thanks to Hermione Granger. She filled the spaces that cracked through their foundation as father and son, filling them with so much light they didn't know they were missing much; in fact, Draco was sure his late mother knew _exactly _what she was doing when she welcomed the young muggleborn into their lives. He was sure his mother knew of her illness longer than she led on, and simply did not want her men to be completely alone after passing.

Narcissa was truly a Slytherin. His father may have coddled the poised woman and kept her blind, but he truly discredited her skill. Or perhaps, he simply didn't expect such traits to be used in selfless and mindful intent.

Either way, Draco was grateful that Hermione Granger was in their life, for he could not imagine it any other way. Perhaps it was the trauma of watching his mother deteriorate that he felt anxiety bubble in his chest every time Hermione looked too tired or coughed a little too much—he knew he was afraid of losing someone else. Or maybe just her in particular. It's why he chose the room nearest to hers, so he could deftly check on her during his sleepless nights where irrational worry would slip into his nervous system, along with the monster of existentialism.

Draco pulled himself from his thoughts and found his father's knowing gaze on him, and immediately broke eye contact, sighing as he stood to his feet. "I'm going to turn off the oven and set some soup to cook. I'll be right back."

"Thank you, son," said Lucius, offering his heir a rare, small smile. Draco left without another word.

Lucius had an equally exhausting week bouncing between the Ministry and his personal affairs; since the war ended, Lucius sought true redemption through charity and sponsorship of special programs that supported marginalized groups within the magical community. Once holding the upper hand in exploiting and bribing ministry officials with his wealth, Lucius found the tables had turned—which he expected. Still, it was irksome to be bothered by people who didn't _quite _have it in them to underhand him. But Lucius also knew the impeding anniversary of _that _day weighing on his mind only added fuel to the fire.

Lucius Malfoy was a different man now than how he spent most of his life as. He held no qualms about admitting his faults with true accountability and accepted any and all punishments for his crime against the world. The whispers and glares stopped affecting him long ago, as did the tabloids and memoirs written, mostly because he stopped feeling sorry for himself after his fall from grace. Being ostracized from his beloved community left much room for contemplation and self-reflection, and Lucius decided to break down his self-pity and remolded it into reparations for others rather than redemption for himself.

Malfoy Sr drifted between consciousness and sleep, the adrenaline leaving him and exhaustion invading him mercilessly, so much so that he didn't feel the magical wards tug him to vigilance. He jumped slightly at the hard footsteps that quickly charged up the stairs and opened his eyes to see a rather worried look on his son's face.

"Someone came through the wards," was all that Draco said.

"Stay here with—"

A howl suddenly bellowed from outside, and both men's blood ran cold. Their eyes widened at one another before Lucius quickly slipped out from Hermione's clinging arms.

"Stay here."

"Like hell I am," snapped Draco.

This was not good. Lucius knew that beastly cry all too well. He gave Hermione what felt like a final look before descending the staircase, pausing at the last step when he heard muffled voices from beyond the emerald door. He held a finger to his lips as his son drew closer; his eyes widened, and he shook his head with absolution at the sight of Draco's raised wand.

"Not in here. She mustn't see," whispered Lucius. Draco's armed response was the appropriate one, of course, but Lucius still did not know the extent of Hermione's less-than-magical status; although she was no squib, he could not risk expulsion and the Ministry. Lucius collected himself before opening the door to whatever was beyond it.

Lucius did not expect to be met by Severus Snape's wand at his throat, nor the other two Gryffindors struggling behind him. He was thankful to see the half-blood gained control of his wolf, but was still on edge as to _why _he had to.

"Severus—"

"Do not _Severus _me, Lucius," snapped the man.

"Quiet down," hissed Draco as he, too, slipped outside. He closed the door behind him softly before joining his father's side. He crossed his arms, fingers twitching against the wand he hid under a sleeve. His eyes roved over Remus and Sirius' forms and his heart dropped—he _prayed_ Hermione would stay sleeping.

Snape shot Draco a dark look before refocusing on his former colleague. He brought his face closer to Lucius'. "You must think you are very clever, Lucius. But not clever enough. _Narcissus _flowers in your window sills—how sentimental of you."

Lucius swallowed down the sudden rage he felt. He was not usually an angry or violent man without warrant, but it took every ounce of grace in him not to plummet his old friend. He noticed a bruise and swelling on Snape's face and couldn't help the smirk that played on his own. It seemed someone else beat him to the punch, so to speak. Was Snape still a friend? Since his resurrection, Lucius saw new life within the old potion's master, but he was unsure if it was gratitude for a second chance or a coping mechanism for something more. Lucius sat many nights with Severus over the last three years as he recounted the casual sexual encounters he had with numerous women; he watched Snape run through much of his riches and even aided him to bed after a night full of alcohol on many occasions.

Even when his best-selling memoir hit the shelves, where Severus spat on Hermione's valor, did Lucius _still _support the man through gritted teeth and balled fists. That was out of necessity—to prevent any suspicions—and Lucius played that role regrettably well even though all he wanted to do was curse Snape into oblivion after speaking ill of the young woman.

Recalling Snape's tasteless written words, Lucius found himself more frustrated than ever. He roughly pushed the man's wand down from his throat and stared at him hard. "You cannot be here."

"A house in muggle London with _these _many wards, and you dare dismiss me?" snarled Snape. "_What _are you hiding?! Why are we here?"

Lucius squinted at the man with confusion before meeting his son's eyes. How on earth was _he _supposed to know why they were there?

Lucius' heart skipped a beat when he heard Hermione's soft and groggy voice come from behind him. He whipped around, eyes wide with fear, as he saw her freeze on spot. Her hair was frazzled from sleeping, her blouse wrinkled, and stockings torn from her earlier fall. Her eyes were on everyone but him, wide and in shock, her full lips parted. His heart sank. This was going to make things that much harder—they would never, _could _never understand her condition and needs. It was going to cause her too much pain, he knew it.

Snape was the first to step forward, his wand clenched beside him. Draco inserted himself in front of his friend and stared his Godfather down with an unyielding fire burning in his eyes that brought the dark man to a brief halt. He had never seen such courage exude from the young Malfoy.

"It's fine," came Hermione's voice. It was as sweet and kind and sung to their hearts. Draco half turned to Hermione, brows raised and knitted as to ask, _are you sure? _He was only met with a soft smile gracing her feverish face and kind eyes—she just had this way about her that always made him feel things would be alright.

Draco side stepped and reluctantly allowed his Godfather way.

Snape's eyes were unblinking, yet a foreseeable storm brewed within them as he slowly stepped nearer to the woman. She looked both the same and different than he last time he saw her staring down at his pitiful and dying form, but he couldn't quite describe it. His heart pounded against his rib cage and his blood pumped so violently through his veins he thought his head would explode—she was _alive! _She was here, under their noses for three damn years! Snape gritted his teeth, apathy returning in full force.

Severus Snape wanted to stay dead. He did not want to continue suffering in flesh—with nothing and no one—after he found such peace beyond the veil. His resurrected life was every bit lonely as it was before.

He stared darkly at the woman who ripped him from his peaceful slumber years ago. He was so close, now. And he was angry.

"Hello, Professor Snape," breathed Hermione.

All of the bitterness and resentment Severus Snape harbored for the past three years dissolved the instant he heard his name come from her mouth. His foreboding glare cracked under the gentle gaze of the young woman before him, her smile reaching parts of him he did not know existed. Warmth swelled within him. He came undone.

Snape's wand clattered against the cobblestone below him as he suddenly dropped to his knees before the woman and linked his arms around her midsection, burying his face into her chest. Her breath hitched and he held her tightly as he ignored the indignant comments from the other men.

"You are still a foolish girl, Miss Granger," he said in a broken voice. He was defeated.


	7. Fantasmas

**Fantasmas**

Hermione was overheated and cold all at the same time; her body quaked with the sweats, her back sore and aching. She felt Lucius slip from her and groaned at the loss of contact only to curl her comforter over her head and flip to her stomach. Her head was pounding from the fall she took, so much she felt it through her eyes. She really should not have overworked herself.

But this was Hermione Granger: overachiever extraordinaire but, mostly, master of compartmentalization. She was no fool, she knew this time of the year was excruciating for her; between losing her magic, her community, and friends—she just could not face the emotional fallout from her choices, no matter how sure of herself she was in the death chamber. In reality, Hermione wasn't prepared for life after committing the crime; she was sure she was sacrificing herself and mentally prepared herself for it. Losing her magic? Running away? Not so much.

However, there were a few things that helped her during these moments when she felt the proverbial dam would burst. She thought about the Resurrected Three—as the _Prophet _liked to call them—and the life she helped them gain; even if she was no longer part of it, she knew she did the right thing. By them, by Harry, by Teddy. Knowing the consequences of her actions, Hermione would still do it just the same. Lucius would kill her if he knew how she felt. Kind, strong, logical Lucius Malfoy was another exception to her unhappiness, and Draco. Hermione did not know what she would do without them; their company and mindfulness was unlike anything she ever expected from her former enemies. She basked in their love and care, but often felt bouts of guilt.

Narcissa was supposed to be here, not her. Husband and wife were supposed to be reunited…not her…not _him. _She groaned and threw the covers off herself, frustrated that her foggy mind drifted to such thoughts. Hermione wanted to cry, irrationally so, she thought. As she stood, she felt the world spin slightly, but her brain fog was immediately cleared by a sudden hum within her; it felt like her cells vibrated erratically, buzzing with charge, her fingers tingling with something familiar yet distant. A quivering sigh escaped her as she gazed down at her shaking hands. _What the hell…_

Hermione suddenly heard arguing voices from below her window and peaked out from a distance. She squinted, cursing her now horrible eyesight, but could not make out the mysterious figures with the Malfoy men. She could, however, see the antagonizing darker figure approach Lucius rather aggressively, and before she knew it, she was stalking down the staircase.

This was not what she wanted. She could not identify all her feelings, but she knew her fight or flight meter was pushing red in _RUNAWAY. _But when Severus fell to her like an adoring apostle, Hermione could not help the dam that burst free, and she felt everything she bottled for the past three years. Her hand found itself atop the feathery hair of her former professor, her eyes dancing between him and the others—Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, in the flesh. She felt her body shake under their piercing gaze as they grew closer and closer into the light of the porch. They did not look much older than she last remembered them; she half expected them to rapidly age upon arrival into the world of the living.

Hermione felt Snape disconnect from her person and she felt an unusual loss stir within her as he broke away, his back facing them. She watched as he ran a hand over his hair, resting it on the back of his neck as he gazed up at the night sky.

"Hermione Granger," came both Remus and Sirius' voice at once. They shared amused glances, their eyes shooting up at her when she laughed. She brought her hands to her face as she laughed more openly, the nice sound echoing in the courtyard. Before she knew it, she nearly jumped off the porch and swung her arms around the two men, staggering.

"You _genius _girl!" laughed Sirius, placing affectionate kisses atop her head.

"_Dangerous _girl," Remus corrected. He wrapped an arm gingerly around her, inhaling the sweet coconut scent from her curls and leaning his mouth by her ear. "Thank you, Hermione."

Hermione jumped slightly at the soft tone he spoke to her in before pulling back and looking at them both. She laid a gentle hand on either of their faces, memorizing their features in case she woke up from this cruel dream. They were taking care of themselves, she could tell; their new life has been treating them well. Their eyes closed as she touched them, leaning into her hands like starved men.

"Remus Lupin and Sirius Black," she said with a wide grin. She brought her hands into fists at her front, her shoulders tense and body shaking with excitement as her grin widened, before blissfully yelling into the night—she was thrilled to see the product of her hard and strenuous work those years go. Her curls bounced around her as she hugged them again, laughing more. "It is _so good _to see you."

"Us? _We _are…I don't even think there is a word to describe how we feel seeing you," said Remus, running an absent hand over his cheek. It burned slightly, and his inner wolf sighed with relief.

"Truly, I mean, look at you," said Sirius, beaming. He took a step back and raised his hand, regarding her. "Hermione Granger, a woman—_the _woman who brought three old dogs back from the veil. Tell me, are you still nearly as swotty as you were back then?"

Hermione laughed again, crossing her arms a little self-consciously, and gave a small shrug. "Worse, really."

Sirius barked with laughter as Remus bit back a grin. His light eyes roved over her form, gold flashing and grin straightening as he saw her disheveled attire and knot growing on her forehead. Instinctually, the wolfman reached out and pushed the hair away from her injury. His nose flared but he managed to simmer the beast in him down.

"What happened to you?" he asked in an even tone, his eyes flashing towards the unusually quiet Malfoys. Hermione frowned and brought a hand to her head, wincing when she touched too hard.

"I fell down the stairs. Err… I felt feverish."

"_Feverish?" _came Draco's incredulous voice from behind. His father shot him a look and he sucked his teeth. "You were burning up and passed out on the staircase."

Hermione shot him a look that clearly translated _shut up, ferret!, _before giving Remus and Sirius an apologetic smile. Sirius' brow rose as he stepped forth, finally seeing the scrape under her torn stockings and knot shining in the dim light.

"Is that true, Hermione?" he asked in a quiet tone. She nodded and smiled.

"Yes. Lucius and Draco take very good care of me."

"Someone has to," grumbled Draco. His father pursed his lips disapprovingly at his loquacious heir.

Hermione waved her hand at the Malfoy men to come closer; she watched Lucius in particular as he stiffly made his way, his eyes unmoving from the intruders. She didn't realize the soft expression she wore when regarding the older Malfoy, her eyes squinting from her loving smile. Sirius and Remus watched her curiously if not, a little uncomfortably—and something more? Jealousy? Uncertainty? They didn't know, but their exchanged looks told the other they were on the same page.

"But…why?" Severus asked, suddenly joining their small reunion. His face was smooth and tone even as he approached, looking from the man he could have called his best friend to his former student. "Why are you here, with Lucius and Draco, no less?"

"I…chose to leave," said Hermione rather lamely. Snape crossed his arms and gazed down at her in that way he did when observing her potionmaking—it made Hermione nervous, but she kept her wits about her. "I _needed _to leave. My work was done."

"Work?" asked Remus, also crossing his arms. The two former professors were going to be the death of her, she knew it. "You…committed a crime."

They grew silent and Hermione downcast her face, arms wrapped around herself in shame. Embarrassment. She knew very well what she did, she spent the last three years on a rollercoaster of emotions over it. But she could not help to feel judged in this moment. A cool hand touched her arm, pulling her out from her personal bubble of turmoil. Sirius gave her a comforting smile before shooting his best mate a critical look.

"She is one of the brightest witches out there, mate. She…" his voice faded before looking at her again, really seeing her in new light. He recalled the greatness that was Hermione Granger—he owed her his life in her third year, fought alongside her in the Department of Mysteries, and hung onto every story Harry and Ron told of her during their year on the run; he knew she survived snatchers, his crazed cousin, and more. "I'm sure she had her reasons for her defiance and running away. A reason—" he caught her eye again, raising his brows "—that she doesn't have to give us, right now."

"Speak for yourself," said Snape, a scowl on his face.

"Snape—"

"I think that is enough excitement for one night," interrupted a very stern Lucius. He rounded on the men, putting himself between the young woman and motley crew of wizards. "You should leave. Your presence is detrimental to the life we worked very hard to build here."

"Now wait a minute, Malfoy," exclaimed Remus. He was frustrated and the belly of his beast was very hungry; he felt on edge, as if the sweetness his werewolf urged him to claim would be ripped from his very claws. Turmoil broiled within him, unsure why he and his counterpart felt so _territorial _over Hermione—it was wrong, the alpha in him was so very wrong. This was Hermione Granger: best friend to someone he considered a son, the young girl whose boggart turned into her favorite professor failing her; the girl who detected his secret before many, who still showed him kindness after.

_A woman, _spoke the wolf inside him. _Your savior. Your second chance. _

Remus scoffed audibly, earning himself several questioning looks. He shook off the onslaught of inappropriate instincts and looked up at the blonde. Lucius had an elegant brow raised, daring him to continue. "That should not be your choice. If Hermione wants us to go, then we will leave."

_Do not back down, _growled the beast.

All eyes fell to Hermione. Lucius, his back still to her, briefly looked to the gods above to help him in this sticky situation before turning to her.

"It's your call, Miss Granger," said Lucius in a low voice. His eyes rolled from her form to his son's to the lovely house behind them that he learned to call home. Hermione stepped forward and his eyes snapped to her, unable to read her expressionless face; if Lucius didn't know better, he would have thought she was forcing mental walls up against any unwanted cerebral penetration.

"Lucius is right," she said in a firm voice. She didn't know how much more she could bear…her face felt like it was going to crack. Lucius' shoulders relaxed but the resurrected men visibly tensed, and she waved her hands in apology. "I mean, for tonight. I-I'm not feeling terribly well, and this is all very…overwhelming. Please, do not think too much into it."

"We understand," offered Sirius, nodding. Remus glanced at him, wondering how his usually emotion driven friend was so cool during all this. Severus said nothing.

"You just can't tell anyone," Draco said, surprisingly everyone. He was peculiarly quiet during the entire exchange, choosing to observe the men and his best friend. He studied their body language and change in tone when regarding her—he didn't like it. Something didn't feel right, and he was worried. As usual.

"And just how do we explain to Potter and the others our sudden apparation from Grimmauld Place?" sneered Snape. Draco shrugged.

"You've spent most of your life lying to people, I'm confident you can figure it out, Godfather," Draco said nonchalantly. Sirius snorted at the affronted look on his rival's face, mentally high-fiving his cousin. He may grow to like the slick-haired Malfoy, after all.

"You little—"

"Sudden apparation?" repeated Hermione, frowning. They could tell the gears were quickly turning in that sharp mind. "Is that how you got here? How did you even know…"

Severus, Sirius, and Remus all exchanged knowing looks though had no real answer.

"We succumbed to…_something _at Grimmauld place. It was like my body was on fire," answered Sirius. He figured no one else would try to explain in fear of looking absolutely barmy. He did not care though; Sirius was as transparent as they come and held little fear towards vulnerability. He was honest. "I didn't have control over coming here—my body simply reacted. We all apparated separately and found each other here."

Hermione looked at him curiously and he suddenly felt like he was pressed under a microscope. Her brows were knitted and eyes darted side to side as if visualizing his words and experience with no solution coming to mind.

"I don't quite…"

"We have all felt it for years," said Snape, scoffing. "As if our magic were a compass and something, somewhere, pulsed a magnetic field that pulled us ever so often. I personally have been able to resist the call, and I am sure if Lupin here didn't almost concuss me—"

"You know very well you had it coming."

"Were you _fighting?!" _scolded Hermione, until the vague memory of her daydream on the staircase infiltrated her mind; a small gasp escaped her, and her hand shot to cover her mouth. "Okay, yes, you should go—just for tonight."

"And please remember that if you risk Hermione's stability here, I will personally hold each of you accountable," drawled Lucius. It was evident that he was far over the unexpected company. He needed to talk to Hermione—alone. Without emotional distractions. "Your newfound mortality will be easily taken from you."

"_Lucius_," Hermione hissed, surprised at him. He spared her a sideways glance before beginning his retreat to the door. She turned to her miracles and gave them an apologetic smile which immediately softened the confrontational expressions they wore. "Please, keep my secret. I'm trusting you."

Severus sighed. "We will figure something out."

Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to speak again, then shut it, thinking better of it. She nodded and turned heel without another word, slipping into her home. She paused at the threshold, regarding them from the half open door, before disappearing behind it.

"He doesn't like this," Remus muttered to Sirius, fidgeting with his sweater. His friend gave him a confused look. _"Moony."_

"I don't blame him," replied Sirius as his grey eyes wandered over the friendly home up to the highest. He smiled slightly, seeing the silhouette the woman he considered a ghost all these years. "But she's trusting us. And I trust her."

**A/N: Phew! Thank you all for the amazing words and support. It truly makes my day. I hope you continue to enjoy this. This is multi-pairing, so I hope I appeal to all the shippers out there at some point. Much love!**


	8. In the Air Tonight

**In the Air Tonight **

Hermione tore herself from the window and began pacing her room, rubbing her bottom lip with a knuckle mercilessly. Her stomach turned with nausea, but she swallowed it down. She caught sight of herself in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing herself, but crumbled at her state.

"I am so weak," she muttered to herself before sliding against the edge of her bed and hugging her knees. She began sniffling, and soon the tears came, rushing down her face from their years long prison. Her face crumpled at the overwhelming feeling that drowned her, her mouth opened with silent wails. She wasn't ready to see them—she didn't think she would _ever _see them, but there they were, at her home, alive and breathing. Hermione knew she should be happy—and she was!—but along with it came so many conflicting emotions, most of wish she felt ashamed of. She should _just _be happy, nothing less; but the doubt and insecurities that came along with her current ailment ate at her.

_She's one of the brightest witches out there…_

Hermione snorted at the recollection of Sirius' words. "I'm not, not anymore…"

For years, Hermione convinced herself that she was okay with losing her magic. But the evident truth was, she would have rather been devoured by the veil than live how she was now. She recalled her youth in muggle school, too peculiar and in tune with the world to develop any friendships; she remembered how ecstatic she felt when she was told she was a witch, finally understanding the restless energy that hummed in her and her accidentally sticking of her mother's vacuum to the ceiling—just to be only partially accepted into her new world.

Who was she now? A woman torn between two coinciding worlds: a war veteran too abnormal and damaged to ever connect with muggles, whom she could never confide the atrocities and experiences she held, but also magicless vessel who holds no purpose in the wizarding realm. She was in limbo.

_Who am I? _

A knock at the door made her jump and she quickly wiped her face with a tissue from her nightstand, waving at her eyes and begging the tears to dry.

"Come in!" she said a little too cheerily.

Lucius slowly opened the door, already aware of her mental break down; he knew Hermione had an extraordinary poker face, a skill very Slytherin if he cared to admit. Regardless, he spent enough time with her to have learned her little quirks that were telltale signs of her disassociation—a bit of rapid eye movement, the way she blinked several times before donning on a convincing smile, sometimes the flexing and cracking of her fingers. They were quick things and he was sure she was unaware of them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked in a quiet tone as he sat on her bed. She waved her hands at him and shook her head.

"What about? They're alive!" she said enthusiastically.

"Then why are you pacing?"

Hermione paused, realizing her back was to him, and caught his eye in the reflection of the vanity mirror. His face was knowing—as it was always—and she felt her jaw tighten and nose tickle with threat of new tears. She looked up at the ceiling as she took a shaking breath before turning to him.

"I'm just a little…overwhelmed. Excited, maybe? I'm okay, though," she said firmly. Lucius did not blink.

"I would not pressure you to talk about it, Hermione, just know that you can confide in me," he said simply.

"Oh, _Hermione _now, is it?" she shot back in a mild playful tone, crossing her arms. She hated when he called her Miss Granger—it was like counteractive to all the work they put in their relationship over the last few years—but she was secretly thankful he did back there. It was a snap of reality for her.

Lucius shrugged, his face full of innocence. "I had to remind you that even though you may have picked out this _God _ugly home, I still call the shots around here."

Hermione laughed loudly, her worries trickling back behind mental doors for the moment.

"Oh please, we all know you let Granger get away with murder around here," came Draco's drawl. He entered her room with a bowl of soup carried carefully with mitts; Lucius raised a brow at him, both at his words and at how ridiculous he looked with oven mittens clashing with his chic robes. "It nearly boiled over but here you go, Malfoy's special soup."

Hermione sniffed the air then frowned at her friend. "That's from a can."

"Ah, but I added garlic and rosemary—hence, special," he said simply.

"You will make a lovely wife one day, Draco," she teased.

Draco looked affronted. "Isn't that mildly sexist? Where is the woman who nearly had my bollocks when I called Pansy—"

"Because _that _word was awful," she interrupted, glowering at him. Lucius gave Draco a look but he only shrugged, defeated as usual. Hermione sat between them on her rather large bed with the soup in her hands, staring down at her reflection in it. She liked this, being here with them, even if they were only playing house; she enjoyed coming home to the Malfoy men, the witty banter and shared silence. It was peaceful. But she knew she would be a fool to think it could always be like this, especially now that she was found out. She sighed, sipping her soup.

"I love you two," she said in a gentle voice. Draco's eyes looked to his father's, whose face held no secrets. A rare smile cracked at his cool façade and Draco found himself just the same.

_Cokeworth_

Severus groaned. "Why did you two follow me here?"

Remus dusted his sweater and cast his former colleague an impatient look.

"We need to be on the same page with the Potters—"

"About what, exactly?"

All three men jumped at the unexpected and harsh tone that welcomed them. Harry stood in front of Snape's home, his lips pursed, and brows raised in question. Snape, annoyed as ever, waved him off.

"You two can deal with him. I'm going inside."

Harry stepped in the man's way, his determination faltering a little. Even though owed Snape everything he still tread carefully around him; he thought his resurrection would bring new character to the old potioneer, but it really only brought on a womanizing and overly confident prat. Harry supposed it wasn't entirely Severus' fault though—after all, he did insist on parading dead man around, forcing him into the Wizengamot to clear the Snape name and linking him to several publishers. Severus sneered down at the young man, further annoyed by his Gryffindor persistency. Some may find it endearing—he did not.

"That's none of your concern, Potter," he said. He was drained and had no real fight in him to verbally abuse the young man.

"Coming from you, that'd be acceptable. But with _them?" _Harry argued, pointing at his Godfather and Remus. "I spent a good part of my childhood being kept in the dark from you lot."

"Potter—"

"Harry," Remus spoke, coming closer. "We can't…say too much. We have been having…difficulties, since being back."

Well, it was part of the truth. Harry's shoulders relaxed but worried frown marred his face.

"Difficulties? Like what? Your health?" he questioned. Remus rubbed he back of his neck, looking for the right words that would appease the boy without betraying Hermione.

"Not exactly, no. Severus, Sirius, and I have been having similar symptoms—they're not life threatening, but I think it may be due to our resurrection."

Harry was quiet but he shifted on his feet. He was dressed rather dapper, a long navy peacoat keeping him warm from the chill, his Auror badge smartly pinned.

"We left to talk," offered Sirius. He put a hand on his godson's shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Things happened, but we can't say more. Not until we know for sure and all agree on it. We don't want to unnecessarily concern people—_do _we, Severus?"

The man in question said nothing but simply nodded.

"Alright…" said Harry, sighing. He knew they were hiding something giant, but this was the most honesty he has ever gotten from the three, and that had to count for something. He trusted them with his life—he just didn't trust them with the _truth, _and he was unsure which was worse. "Alright, fine. But please, no fighting in the house, especially in front of the kids. Ginny was raging."

"We're sorry, Harry, truly. I don't know what came over me," apologized Remus, his eyes flashing at Severus when the man smirked at him. He felt his beast stir—that's right, they didn't finish what they started. He chose to ignore him. "How did you know to come here?"

Harry paused for a minute then shrugged. "Just a feeling, I guess. I checked Snape's favorite pub, Andromeda's, the Ministry cells"—he gave them a disapproving look rival to his Mother's—"then here. I wasn't here long 'til you guys showed."

"Perfect," drawled Snape. Without another word, he entered his home and slammed the heavy door.

"Please tell me you at least knocked him around a bit," asked Harry, hopeful. The two men laughed, shaking their heads.

"I wish," said Sirius, eyes gleaming. "You know, you're quite the Auror; you visited some logical favorite past-times to find us. Very official of you."

Harry only smirked at his godfather's teasing words. He followed them towards a local pub as Remus claimed he was starved, his mind wandering to the pleasant white home in that small corner of London and the familiar woman half hidden in the doorway, far away from magical eyes. Except, maybe, his.


	9. Happy UnBirthday

**Happy Un-Birthday to You**

_Small Corner of London_

Hermione woke from the heaviest sleep she has gotten in a long time, thankful that her fever broke midway through the night; her body ached very little now, but it still felt drained. She glanced at her clock that read eight in the morning and grumbled slightly: she wished her body had let her sleep in on the weekends. She slid out of bed, grabbing her robe before making her way to the master bathroom.

The grandfather clock clicked rhythmically from the foyer as she padded quietly down the hall. The house was quiet, but she figured the Malfoy men were away in the magic world. She sighed happily when she entered the opulent bathroom—it was the one thing Hermione begged Lucius to magically expand. A large porcelain tub rested besides the curtained window, small tealights popping around the trim where she laid her favorite product; beside it, an even bigger glass shower enclosure stood with brass accents. The cupboards were mahogany wood and massive with marble topping the double sinks. Hermione quickly retrieved a thermometer from the neatly organized cabinets and popped it under her tongue before starting the bath water on hellish heat; she felt gross, the sweat from her fever making her skin sticky and flattening her hair. When the thermometer beeped, she was relieved to see a normal temperature, though reminded herself to take some medication before starting the day.

Stripping from her very crumpled work clothes she had slept in, Hermione gingerly ran a finger over the scars of the past that webbed across her body; she knew how and when she received each, tallying them in her mind and filing them away. Her hands rolled over the swell of her breasts then over her belly before sliding around her thighs, a frown pulling at her lips; time was not kind to her, neither was stress, as she could see in her worn body. She picked at herself, counting the tiger marks across her thighs down to her bum, poking the soft flesh of her chest and abdomen, before sighing and crossing her arms, catching herself in the mirror.

"You are a legal assistant, Granger," she scolded herself. "You were tortured; you fought a war and returned to school after just to graduate with top marks. You resurrected the dead!"

This was a common pep talk Hermione gave herself when her insecurities and flaws peaked their monstrous heads. It was a talk she had to give herself more frequently in the last few years, whenever she dwelled on things she was missing. She knew both her best friends—former best friends?—had growing families now, some of whom she had yet to meet; she knew their careers were rocketing, that they were happy.

Without her.

She mentally smacked herself. This was what she wanted. This was the choice she made…to leave everything and everyone behind. Hermione was in no position to throw herself a pity party.

But still…

Hermione slid into the hot bath and hummed with pleasure as the aches throbbed with the heat, dipping her head under until she heard nothing but her thoughts.

_I am not living, _she thought to herself. _I am dwelling on a life I can no longer have…but what else is there? A family? Love? Those are silly things…_

She remerged and slung her arms over the sides of the clawfoot with a sigh as she turned to watch the birds flutter outside. _What else…_

A soft knock pattered on the bathroom door. "Granger? Just letting you know we're back. Put something nice on and come downstairs."

"I'll be out soon."

"And when I say _nice _I mean something you wouldn't wear to work," teased Draco. Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed a towel at the door, the light thud causing the young Malfoy to snort in amusement. "Don't take forever."

Hermione took longer in the bath to purposely annoy the ferret, a smirk playing at her lips when she heard him exclaim _'finally!' _from the level below as she walked back to her room. She was grateful her hair was cooperating today, having learned some true skill and product use from a local hair supply, because doing it without magic just _wasn't _happening; she styled it up in a voluminous bun, several coils romantically astray and framing her face. Rummaging through her closet, she retrieved a thin black turtleneck with quarter-length sleeves and fought to get it neatly over her mass of curls; next, she slipped on some fall stockings and a corduroy skirt in wine, ending with heeled booties. She looked at herself in the mirror, giggling to herself a she thought about a whining Draco who had begged her to buy the skirt in green—she had ultimately appeased him, buying both. She quickly lined the top lid of her eye and dabbed on a wine tinted lip before grabbing her favorite leather jacket and leaving her room.

Her heels clicked as she came down the stairs slowly, her eyes roving over the missing spots in the photo collage, quickly overlooking the mirror. She wasn't ready for whatever _that _was.

"Why am I dressing nicely?" she asked as she rounded the corner. She halted as she saw a frumpy orange tabby cat with long whiskers rolled on its back in the hall. It was so quiet she could hear the precious thing purr. Her breath hitched and she could feel her lip quiver. "Draco? Lu—"

"Surprise!" sang Draco, popping his head from the kitchen. The cat jumped and meowed in displeasure. "It's the cat you were raving about when you went to the local shelter. His name is Gully"—Draco's lip turned downward—"but I think he looks more like a Sebastian."

Hermione's heart sang as she slowly crouched beside the plump feline, speaking softly to it as if to a small babe; Gully the tabby stretched long under her, pressing his paw against her hand before flipping over and rubbing his fanged mouth against her finger. Gingerly, Hermione scooped the very fat cat up with some difficulty and was happily rewarded with a deepening purr. She walked closer to her friend, her eyes glassy, and gave him a shy smile like that of a little girl.

"I love him," she whispered. Draco laughed.

"Yeah, I know, you said so a million times since volunteering at the shelter. The ladies there were really helpful when I told them who he was for."

"That is incredibly…thoughtful of you, Draco. Thank you so much," she said, beaming.

"It's been known to happen."

The French doors leading to the backyard opened and in came Lucius Malfoy, dressed to typical standard. His hair was loose and cascaded over his slick button up that clung flatteringly over his body down to—dragonhide gloves?

It was a rare sight, but Hermione was one of the few who witnessed Lucius Malfoy, Gardener Extraordinaire, in his natural habitat. It was one of many things that brought the two together, however dead her green thumb was; still, Lucius was patient and taught very well, so it was no surprise to find them often in the garden during the warmer months while Draco watched, not envious at all. As long as he got to eat the delicious things Hermione's not-so-magic hands whipped up, he was fine being excluded.

Hermione's smile widened at the pretty yellow flowers the man held in his hands and gently placed Gully back on the floor, much to his dismay. She rounded the island and dipped her head to smell them, their petals tickling her nose.

"Are these for me?" she asked, looking up at him. He had a brow raised and gave her an impartial look.

"That depends. Will you accept more than flowers and an old cat this year?"

Hermione rolled her eyes with a laugh. "That depends. What else is up your sleeve?"

"That depends," Lucius drawled back, the quick glimmer of playfulness lighting his eyes. Hermione gently slapped his arm, shaking her head before she stretched on her tippy toes and placed a quick kiss on the older man's cheek. He blinked, his face slipping for a moment, before smoothing out when she took the flowers from him.

"I love them, Lucius, thank you," she said, holding the flowers close to her face. They did this every year despite how much she protested their gifts.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he muttered before removing his dirty gloves over the sink. Gully struggled but managed to plop up on the counter beside Lucius, the two staring each other down.

Hermione and Lucius bonded over many things. Cats were not one of them. She wondered how Draco convinced his father to let the fat beast into the home.

"I guess I'll just go f—"

"_Draco," _scolded Hermione, her hands on her hips and half-amused look on her face at the faux pout he wore. She clicked on over and wrapped him in a tight hug, pulling away to look at him with excited eyes. "_We've got a cat."_

Draco laughed, nodding. "More like a moose, but yes."

Before she knew it, the Malfoy men swept her up and brought her to a chic part of the city, surrounded by muggle designer brands and high-end eateries. It was Lucius' favorite part of town, naturally; Hermione even convinced him to browse some of the expensive shops which he agreed to, begrudgingly so, only to be pleasantly surprised by his finds. To say Narcissa would be rolling in her grave at the numeric value he rang up on days would be quite the understatement. He had even let the young woman style him several occasions, much to his pleasure; Hermione had an eye for what looked good on the Malfoy men and within their tastes.

Lucius side-eyed his friend for a bit as they walked the cobblestone streets to their destination, a romantic Italian bistro highly rated in the city; he saw the light twinkle in her eyes as she hid her excitement as they walked, evident that it was dawning on her of where they were headed. He fought back a grin—food really was the way to Hermione Granger's heart. More so, he studied her face and how at ease she seemed given last night's excitement, but he saw no fidgeting or worry mar her features; he, on the contrary, was filled with worry since they had not gotten to talk seriously about the predicament the resurrected men now placed them in, but he knew the topic was not for today and least of all restaurant conversation. He would let it be. For now.

"Lucius," Hermione breathed, sliding her hand through his looped arm, her other linked with Draco's. She stared up at the cursive sign for the bistro, grinning. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

"That I do," he replied simply as a host opened the door for them.

"Very modest of you, Father," commented Draco tipping his head to the host.

For early afternoon, the bistro was heavily packed, collective murmurs echoing loudly in the high ceiling; the walls were covered with old black and white photos of the restaurant through the decades, through owners and renovations, musicians and artists. The smell of garlic and family sauce permeated through the air and made Hermione's stomach growl. Her eyes were wide as she took in the intricate chandeliers above them and strung lights around the pillars, dividing the dining and bar areas, as light jazz music resonated around them. It reminded her of a speakeasy she once watched in a film.

"Reservations?" asked a pretty hostess, her blue eyes locked on Lucius. Hermione smirked, unhooking her arm from his and holding onto Draco only. She observed the woman's lashes bat flirtatiously with the wizard, who only smiled kindly with a nod.

"Yes, under Malloy," said Lucius. He glanced at his son and Hermione who were whispering mischievously, internally groaning. Malloy was his pseudonym here in the muggle realm; it was common and discreet enough, raising no questions by employees nor risking any slip of mouth. The hostess looked over at Draco and Hermione, pausing, before returning her gaze to Malfoy senior, her smile fuller.

"Follow me, Mr Malloy," she said in an overly sweet voice. The trio followed her to a quiet corner of the bistro, the table large in an alcove with velvety crimson seats encircling it. She lit the candles and offered Lucius a quick wink before returning to her post. Hermione giggled as she watched the woman whispering to her co-worker, their eyes darting back.

"It seems you have a fan," teased Hermione, grabbing a napkin and flattening it over her lap. "Maybe you should better introduce yourself."

Lucius, who was taking a sip of water, nearly choked at her suggestion. "I have no interest in _dating."_

"Well, if you don't talk to her, maybe I will," suggested Draco as he grabbed a slice of rosemary focaccia. Hermione slapped his leg. "Ow!"

"Don't be a prat. You have _flocks _of witches ready to wait on you hand and foot back home," scolded Hermione, also grabbing a piece for herself. She looked over at Lucius, who stared off somewhere. She would be a fool to deny the ethereal beauty that were the Malfoy men; they were poised and regal, their words smooth as their skin, yet prowled like dangerous panthers always on the look-out for prey. Not only did they keep themselves healthy and fit, but they were well versed in worldly matters, capable of domineering any conversation, whether it be philosophy or foreign affairs. Hermione supposed they had to be, considering all the types of people they had to deal with—and, sometimes coerce—a day.

Lucius, like Draco, was a classic beauty; his strong chin framed handsome features and sharp cheekbones, his hair thick and tamed like one of his horse's manes; his shoulders were always straight, a leg crossing another, and his clothes perfectly tailored. But his eyes were always stormy, and whatever raged behind them never reflected on his collected face, often making Hermione wonder what was going on in his mind.

"You are staring, Miss Granger," drawled Lucius, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts. She didn't even realize they were served wine, but hastily grabbed a stem and held it to her lips in attempts to cover her embarrassment. She sipped it and hummed with pleasure, before staring at Lucius again. He sighed. "Speak freely, dare I say."

"You've _really _never considered dating again?" asked Hermione, exaggerating her words. She has seen the way women look at the Malfoys—especially Lucius; he would have absolutely no problem snagging someone.

"No," he said firmly. He took a mouthful of the wine. _Lovely. _"Besides, _dating _is for children; courting is what a Malfoy does, and that has not entered my mind in some time."

"But—"

"_And _what am I to do with a muggle woman? They would not understand my world at this age."

Draco snorted. "That's why you get a young, impressionable girl. Throw your riches around, flash some gold…"

Hermione glared at him from the corner of her eye, ceasing his piggish rant. She still had much to work on with the young Malfoy, she realized. Lucius sighed before she could speak again.

"I am content as I am, Hermione, trust me," he said lightly. Hermione withdrew her argument.

He was telling the truth, Hermione knew. But deep down in her heart, she felt bad for the man; Narcissa was all he knew since they were children, his young life into adulthood devoted to her aside of their marriage arrangement. She remembered his seclusion in his chambers after she passed, when she would go days without seeing him, only sometimes bumping into him on the way to visit Draco; he spoke no words, he barely even looked at anyone, or ate. It was not until Hermione cornered him in the hall and dragged him back to his chambers, sitting beside him, that the man wept so freely and agonizingly. Her heart could barely beat under the heavy emotions Lucius Malfoy displayed that day, and she silently made a vow to be his closest friend and trusted confidant.

"Being content is not being happy, Lucius," she decided to say, rather quietly. Lucius regarded her for a moment, saying nothing.

"Glass houses, Granger," quipped Draco. His father raised a glass to him, as if he took the words from his mouth. Hermione retreated then, her eyes falling to the menu. She knew defeat well within the walls of the white house—and, clearly, outside them.

Lucius watched Hermione, as he often did. He watched the way she rested her wrists atop the table as she cut her food into even pieces; he watched as she blew a rebellious curl from her face, eyes slightly narrowed; he watched how her one dimple caved and how small her eyes got when she had a good laugh with his son. He admired her, always. He knew she had gallons of turmoil rotting inside her, and he knew that, little by little, year after year, her feathers got a bit cleaner, and she could one day fly again.

The thought made Lucius uncomfortable. He was so use to her presence, her smell, her ways; there was always something around to remind him that she was there or would be home soon: a kitchen timer going, a splayed book and reading glasses, a mug sitting on a coaster. He was not sure he was ready for her to fly.

He pushed the invading thoughts to a far corner of his mind along with the mild guilt he felt at such things, clearing his throat before slipping a hand into his pockets. He revealed a velvet case, causing Draco and Hermione's playful banter to subside.

"As I said, there was more." He slid a little closer to the young woman in the massive lounge seat, opening the case with a small _pop. _Hermione's eyes softened like warm honey at the sight inside. A thin gold chain hung neatly against the velvet, and at its end shone a delicate North Star with an opalescent stone in the middle. Her fingers ran across the pendant, its opaque surface gleaming periwinkle when it caught the dim light. "It's moonstone, and very befitting for you, I believe. Growth, calmness, intuition, success. Everything you clearly have, mind you."

"It's beautiful Lucius. I love it," she breathed. Her hands found the loose curls at her nape and held them back as she turned from him, signaling for his assistance. Lucius smiled warmly at the back of her head and happily appeased the excitable girl, clicking the lobster claw closed. Hermione absolutely beamed as her fingers found the delicate piece at her neck, stroking the embellishments as if to memorize the feel. "I didn't think you believed in that stuff."

"You do," he said. He then smirked knowingly at her. "I still stress from the tirade you went on about all those years ago regarding the old ways."

Hermione beamed, a small grin playing at her lips. "And the North Star."

Lucius' hand twitched for his second glass, eyes avoiding. "Yes, I do catch you stargazing."

Hermione's grin deepened but she kept quiet. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift. When she was not hunched over files, Lucius often caught her with the record player on the back patio, wrapped in blankets and playing something soft, her nose to the sky as she quietly named the constellations. There was very little light pollution where she picked this house and the moon illuminated the property in a haunting way during every phase; the North Star beamed right above their home. Hermione once caught him watching her in the early months of her refuge and since then, invited the man to sit with her every time. They spoke in whispers on those nights, recollecting memories of days past and old childhood stories; sometimes, they had no words, and merely enjoyed each other's company.

Yes, the gift was _incredibly _thoughtful.

"I love you two, very much, you know that?" she said quietly, fingers still hovering over the star. Both men paused. "I wouldn't do anything to risk what you've graciously given me. Nor would I do anything to make you uncomfortable."

"Hermione, we don't—"

She held her hand up to stop Lucius. "Last night…was intense. I was both happy and anxious to see them all. But I understand that we have worked so hard to get to where we are right now. You've used every resource, you risked so much for me. I…I won't reach out to them if you don't think it's okay."

Lucius was taken aback by Hermione's sudden submissiveness and thought he would be overjoyed to be witness to it. Instead, it felt so foreign and…wrong. He stared at her with his strong jaw hanging—as did his son—before recomposing himself, linking his fingers and staring at her hard over the table. Sweet Circe, there was part of him relieved that the girl saw the potential fallout of reconnecting with the resurrected; he could easily put an end to this now that she openly asked for his council. He could sweep her, Draco, and that damn new cat up and jump oceans if it meant keeping her hidden. Azkaban was no place for someone so bright, so selfless, so _good…_

And yet, deep down, Lucius knew she had to fly; he could no longer clip her wings or cage her with pretty little trinkets and unfulfillment—she had to grow, she had to experience the life he knew she deserved. If _anyone _deserved to be happy, it was Hermione Granger. Even if it meant she were to be happy without him.

"I believe…it would be okay."

**A/N: Hello all! Thank you once again for your feedback. I'm glad I can bring some enjoyment across the web. I can't wait to dive into more interactions between Hermione and the others, both together and individually. I'm not sure if you'll get another update this weekend but next week, for sure; I have too many ideas floating in my mind right now. Be safe and have a good weekend! **


	10. Bottom of the Bottle

**Bottom of the Bottle**

Hermione was sure she didn't hear him correctly.

"Come again?" she said, oblivious to the equally surprised face Draco wore.

Lucius leaned back in his chair, hand resting atop his crossed leg, staring hard at Hermione's face.

"Do not get me wrong, something does not feel right. I can't help but worry," he began, dampening Hermione's anticipation. "I think it would be alright if you simply…spoke to them. It seems you all need some kind of closure; then, after, we can talk more."

Draco crossed his arms as he leaned against the tabletop, unsure how to feel. Everything was perfect how it was—why did they need to play host to that motley crew of dead men? And not just any dead men, oh no, but former a Death Eater, a werewolf, and a madman. His eyes bore holes into his father's face, his lip a thin line and tongue pressed to his cheek; he and Lucius have been on the same wavelength for the last few years regarding Hermione. But right now? He could not fathom what was going through Lucius Malfoy's mind. He thought, perhaps, that Lucius had an ulterior motive—a plan to lure the resurrected men into their snake pit, then disengage them all together, chasing them off—but from what he could see on the man's face, he could tell he was honest. And that pissed Draco off further.

Still, he said nothing, looking at Hermione for a semblance of sense. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth with her eyes cast away in thought, which caused him to inwardly groan.

"Granger—"

"Okay," answered Hermione, nodding seriously before a small smile played at her lips. "I think that would be okay."

Lucius nodded in return, his face stern. "However, the _second _they prove troublesome for us…"

He did not have to finish his sentence for both Hermione and Draco to understand his terms. His unspoken promises. Lucius was still a Malfoy, after all, and he took care of his own. Not even Severus could persuade him differently.

Their waitress returned and collected their payment for the meal, her eyes not wavering from Lucius'; she giggled nervously when he gave her hefty tip, batting her lashes. He paid no mind as he stood and helped Hermione into her jacket before placing his own on. As they began their departure, he could hear the schoolgirl whispers and giggles from the hostess desk, causing him to tilt his head back at them, a slight smirk playing at his lips as his hand fell to Hermione's lower back to usher her out. The women, embarrassed by being caught and the territorial gesture, downcast their eyes and mumbled farewells.

Once in the brisk air, Lucius turned to them, a heavy sigh leaving his chest and his face a little perturbed. Hermione frowned at him.

"I'll meet you two at home," he said. Draco and Hermione looked at one another in question. "I suppose I should go retrieve our…guests. I'll stop by Severus'."

"Oh," said Hermione, rather lamely. She wrung her hands. She didn't know he was so eager to get this over with; she assumed it must have been weighing heavy on his mind. Nodding, she gave his arm a squeeze before following Draco to the cabby coral.

Lucius watched them walk away for a moment, second guessing himself. With a hushed swear, he slipped into an alleyway and apparated to Cokeworth, begrudgingly so.

_Cokeworth_

Severus lay half drunk in his dark living room, a few fingers of scotch left in the old bottle hat hung loosely from his dangling hand, when his wards buzzed. He groaned and cursed when the room spun as he stood, the bile rising in his throat. The wards warmed again, and he stalked menacingly to the door, whipping it open.

Remus and Sirius stood before him while holding wrapped plates, eying him cautiously.

"A peace offering," said Sirius, rather chipper, and he extended his plate to the dark man. Severus scowled and swayed back against the door to let them in. The men exchanged looks but said nothing.

"Are you…drunk, Snape?" asked Remus. A slight smirk quivered his mustache as he glanced down at his watch. "It's only past one."

Severus waved him off and crawled back to his spot on the couch, enchanting a few of the oil lamps to come to life. The place reeked of alcohol and was cluttered with dozens of books and piles of parchment, a few cauldrons and empty potion vials in the mix; there was a scent of sulfur underlying the booze, creating a nauseating odor permeate the air. He glared over at his visitors through disheveled hair, jiggling the bottle towards them.

"Uh, no thank you, mate," said Sirius, raising his hand to decline. Remus shook his head.

"Why are you here?" Snape drawled, slightly slurring.

"To talk," said Sirius, sliding a plate over to him. "It's cake from yesterday."

Snape laughed humorlessly. "And what did you end up telling the rest of them?"

"The same thing we told Harry, more or less. Minnie was going to have our necks and was very concerned for you," replied Sirius, pulling lint from his jacket. "She urged us to bring you cake today and…talk things through."

"She would feel differently if she saw who we saw last night," Snape said quietly. Minerva McGonagall was truly a force to be reckoned with. When his memoir was published, she was one of the first in line at Flourish & Blotts to receive an autographed copy, her eyes gleaming with pride and uncharacteristic smile pulling at her wrinkled lips. Imagine her surprise when she read through chapter thirteen, titled _Naivety of Hermione Granger, _where he dragged her young protégé's accomplishments through pits of mud, resulting in numerous tabloids highlighting the socioeconomic and public downfall of Hermione. It led to a snowball of no-name writers commenting on a young woman they barely knew, tarnishing her name and ostracizing her memory. To say she was angry with Severus for a long time would be an understatement—but _he _was there, and Hermione was not, so in the end, she forgave him through gritted teeth.

"We are going to try and see Hermione today," said Remus, leaning his elbows on his knees and slightly hunched. He was both exhausted and full of adrenaline during this phase, and he knew it was because of the excitement from last night; his wolf prowled and paced within him, clawing at his chest like a caged beast, poking and prodding Remus in his soft points to the point of aggravation. Remus felt like he could scale Hogwarts' tallest tower at the moment, only to collapse atop it.

Snape took a swig from the bottle, already numb to the burn.

"Do enjoy yourselves," he said.

"You aren't coming?" asked Sirius with a raise of his brow, earning himself a sneer.

"Why would I go to see that insufferable—"

"Considering how vulnerable you were last night, you seem to be the one from the three of us who _needs _to see her," snapped Remus, erecting his back. He heard enough fowl mouthing of the girl. His wolf stirred again, hungrier this time.

Snape lazily turned his head towards the former professor, a sly smirk playing at his face.

"Why, Lupin, you almost sound jealous," he shot back. He took another swig, ignoring the clenching face of the werewolf. Sirius sighed and snatched the bottle from Snape's grasp before downing the rest himself and tossing it back on the sofa.

"Don't be an ass, for once in your life, Severus," said Sirius, losing his patience. His eyes roved over his former classmate's pathetic form. "You are a Potions Master; you hoodwinked Voldemort for over a decade, and most of the Wizardry world. You are a war hero—but look what you've become: a shell of the bitter man you once were. You have your fame, your glory, your stupid memoir"—Sirius pointed at the tower of the published works—"yet you are in denial of this…this greatness that was given to us again. By a _student _of yours! You should be _groveling _at Hermione's feet!"

Snape narrowed his eyes at the man, his hand searching for another bottle from the coffee table. Sirius kicked the table away from his grasp, causing the contents on top to shake. Remus' eye widened in surprise; it had been a while since he's seen Sirius so riled up. Since their return, Sirius Black had calmed down immensely; he was softer, thought more, and was at ease. Actually, now that he thought of it, the last time he may have seen Sirius so passionate was during their first life together.

Or maybe when he tried to plummet Snape at St Mungo's after their resurrection. The memory was fond.

"You—"

"No, you listen," continued Sirius, a threatening finger pointing at the man. "Everything you have right now is thanks to the girl you diminished in that blasted book—a girl you diminished her _entire _life. Oh yes, I heard the stories, Snape. All of them. You are a great wizard, Severus Snape, but you are a _shit _man. You cannot tell me you don't feel what we feel—what we've _felt _all these years. _She _calls to us. _She _is part of us. I will not stand for your disrespect towards Hermione. If you come, I will not hear another word of it."

"I happen to agree, Black," came Lucius Malfoy's icy voice. Sirius gave him a funny look when seeing how…muggle the aristocrat looked today.

"Remind me to change my wards," sneered Snape, standing unsteadily. Lucius came forth and grabbed his arm for support, over for his help to be slapped away.

"I came here on Hermione's request," explained Lucius. His eyes met Sirius and Remus, nodding in acknowledgment. Their faces lit up, and he interally rolled his eyes at them. "But considering you are inebriated, perhaps I should collect you another time, Severus. Black and Lupin are fine enough."

The men gave Snape one more look over before following the blonde out the door. Once outside, Lucius turned to them with an unidentifiable gleam in his eye, putting them on edge, until they saw him conjure the familiar vial of a Pepper-up/sobering concoction in his hands. Within moments, Snape burst through the door, slinging on his coat and his face contorted.

"Lucius, wait."

**A/N: Short and a bit of a cliff hanger—I hope you all don't hate me for it! Next chapter should get a little nitty gritty, maybe right in the feels. Thank you again for your outpouring support. I'm glad so many of you enjoy it. **


	11. Salt for Your Wounds

**Salt for Your Wounds**

Hermione plugged in her favorite warmer and soon the entertainment room was invaded by the smell of brown sugar, only slightly calming her nerves. Her heels clicked quickly across the hard wood floors as she scoured her drink trolley for wine. She exclaimed when she found the perfect red—a goodie bag item from Ginny's hen party—and poured herself a generous amount. She sat on a barstool as she lifted the glass to her red lips, swallowing more than a mouthful, only to catch Draco's mildly judging eye from the other room.

"Oh please, if you weren't here, I wouldn't be using this glass at all," she quipped with some bite. Draco raised his hands in retreat but still offered her a teasing smirk. His eyes shot towards the window when he heard keys jingle at the door, and Hermione immediately stood, gulping down more of the dry red. This was her birthday after all. Not at all due to the resurrected men whom were about to inquire things she wasn't sure she could—or wanted—to answer yet. The door opened and she half hid beside the wall between the hall and kitchen, watching carefully. Lucius was the first to enter, his eyes shooting up and catching her anxious form and glass in her hand and offered her an encouraging smile. She smiled back, small as ever, her eyes snapping back at the three heads that popped in behind him. She watched as her eyes rolled up around the quaint home, looking at Lucius with thoughtful looks; it made her giggle. She knew it was a bizarre image.

Hermione stepped into the hall fully, her arms crossed and still nursing her glass. Remus was the first to spot her, a warm smile stretching across his face, and he made way for her without a word. He stopped short a foot away, redness painting his cheeks, before slipping his hand into his pockets.

"Hermione," he said with the slight bow of his head.

"Remus," she said, stepping closer and giving him a hug that surprised even her. His cardigan was soft and smelled like the Potters' home—it pulled at her heart. She hugged a little tighter and the werewolf soon found his own arms around her, his chin resting atop her head. He could feel his body relax instantly and found himself thanking the cosmos for the blessing that was Hermione Granger.

"Happy Birthday, sweet girl," came Sirius' cheerful voice. He appeared beside the two, his eyes glittering at the exchange. "My turn, Moony. Move aside, move aside—I have cake!"

Hermione's face blushed when Sirius planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, pulling away with a wink before holding the wrapped plate for her. She lifted the tin a little and froze.

"Is this…Ginny's? How…"

Sirius and Remus both grew quiet, heat rising in their face; Remus ran an absent hand over his mustache before extending it in reason.

"Well—"

"You see…"

"The Potters throw have thrown you a birthday party every year since your disappearance," came Snape's blunt voice. He was not looking at her, his eyes busy over the collection of photos that continued down the hall; his brow was crinkled a bit as he observed more of the house from where he stood. Hermione was quiet, her eyes looking down at the cake in her hands, a sudden nausea stirring her insides. She drew in a deep breath before laughing airily, blinking away her unshed tears; they still glistened in those warm eyes, it was obvious to the men.

"Oh—wow. That's…"

"Dramatic?" offered Snape. She blinked again and snorted.

"Was it Ginny's idea?"

To the untrained eye, Severus Snape would have seemed as stoic as they come. But his lips twitched vaguely. "Naturally."

"The living room is this way," interrupted Lucius, drawing their attention. They were met with Draco who simply nodded at them; Sirius and Remus found themselves at the loveseat while the snakes kept together. When Hermione entered, both Remus and Sirius shifted to give her their seat, only to be quelled by her position on the armrest beside Lucius. The blonde glanced at her through pale lashes and gave her an encouraging squeeze on her knee. Sirius could feel Remus flare up beside him and offered he same gesture. The wolf met his eyes, and Sirius shook his head subtly.

"So," began Sirius, tearing his eyes away from Moony. He smiled kindly at his hosts. "This is a lovely home you have here. Not part of the Malfoy estates, I'm assuming?"

"No, Hermione chose it," answered Lucius. He hated small talk but entertained it either way. "She has made it…a home. In her own ways."

"Although I wasn't allowed to paint the walls gold or crimson," she teased, earning herself a smirk from the old man.

"Nor was I allowed emerald."

"How did you manage all of this?" asked Remus, twirling a finger around suggestively. "The Ministry questioned you. You were given Veritaserum."

"I'm assuming you found a loophole involving a certain and became Secret Keeper," said Snape, finally speaking. His eyes were cast sideways at his friend.

"It was quite reckless, actually," began Hermione, her tone slightly scolding. Both Draco and Lucius released a suffering sigh.

"Here she goes," commented the younger Mafloy, standing. "I'm getting a drink."

"Well, it's true," argued Hermione, a hand on her hip, casting both of them a stern look. Her eyes shot to their guests. "He didn't _know _it would work. He chanced it."

Their eyes fell on Lucius, a quietness befalling them. They all knew Lucius was a careful man: precise, diligent, and particular. Only true desperation could stir such a risk in Lucius Malfoy, and they knew exactly who brought such, dare they say, _bravery, _in the man.

"She was not pleased, to say the least," he said simply. Draco snorted as he reentered the room with his drink and another chair; he swung it backwards before sitting, his arms resting forward around the back of it, observing the men in his home. They were dressed better this time—save for maybe Snape—and their faces were particularly controlled; he could see through their façade and knew that they were going to break at any given moment.

As long as they came apart and not Hermione, Draco didn't care.

They grew quiet again and Hermione's hands grew restless on her lap, knuckles cracking with every extension and thumb rubbing absently against her forefinger. She did not know what to say or how to act; she wasn't sure if she was quite ready to explain _everything _to them. She wasn't ready to feel that shame again, for them to see how far she had fallen from grace.

"I could smell you last night," Remus suddenly said. Every eye turned to him. He cleared his throat. "Well, err, Moony did. He was in control and would not stand down. It was familiar and permeated the entire property. I couldn't quite place it—it was like trying to remember a dream you keep forgetting the more you thought of it. But he was insistent. He knew."

Hermione's lips were parted, and face flushed at the candid admission. Remus laughed, shrugging apologetically.

"I can't ever explain Moony. He's a mystery to me sometimes, as well. But he remembered you, from that night in your third year. I suppose it's his fault you were exposed last night."

"That…what do I _smell _like?" Hermione asked, slipping away from the armrest and taking Draco's former seat at the end of the sofa nearest to Sirius and Remus. She did not notice Severus tense beside her. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and in that moment, they all saw a remembrance of that bookish girl from before. It was endearing.

"That's all you gathered from that?" laughed Remus, scratching his head. "You are coconut swirled with baked goods; fresh parchment from a new book and"—he inhaled—"right now? A bit of cheap red wine from a hen party."

Hermione slapped his leg and laughed openly his words, her smile stretching and dimple denting; even jubilant, it was a nice sound. It warmed parts of Lupin he thought were brittle from lack of touch. He eyed her carefully, a small smile gracing his own face.

"How did you know it was from a hen party?" asked Draco, curiously. Remus shot Sirius a stern look in which the animagus only shrugged at.

"What can I say? The cheap stuff is good."

"Ginny was _livid _that you drank it all."

"I was pretty slammed."

Hermione laughed again as she wiped a tear from her eye. She watched as it evaporated from her skin, sobering; when was the last time she felt this light? This carefree. She looked up at them and found all eyes on her. They were remnants of her old life, of a place she missed calling home. It was bittersweet—but _damnit, _if this wasn't the closest thing to completion she felt.

"Miss Granger?" came Snape's voice. Her eyes snapped to him, and her lightheartedness evaporated. She could feel the words burning at her throat, her heart quickening every time she held them down.

"I found old volumes of runes in the Department of Mysteries eight months before you came back," she blurted, her hand shooting over her mouth. The room froze. Her eyes were wide as she looked at them, recalling the memories as if living them again. "Well, I didn't find it. They were given to me to figure out. The pages were blank, but heavy magic emitted from it. I brought them home one night, laid them in the kitchen, and the next day…everything was dead."

"Dead?" they asked in unison. Hermione nodded.

"All the plants Lucius grew for me that I had at my flat. They wilted within hours. And I knew it had to do with the old tomes."

What surprised the men more, admission that Lucius was a gardener or the mysterious reveal of the books, they did not know, but Sirius, Remus, and Severus all found their undivided attention fell on Hermione, hanging onto her words.

"There were scriptures written around the bindings," she continued, her fingers drawing what she remembered in the air. "I tried to decipher them as much as I could, but I felt like every time I reread them, they changed. It was like they were…"

"Sentient?" offered Snape. She nodded.

"One night, I was reading with a glass of wine, and I accidentally broke it. I had cut my hand without noticing and touched the book. It…" she trailed off for a moment before gathering her wits. "The blank pages were suddenly filled with runes. It needed some sort of…blood offering, I suppose."

Lucius shifted in his seat. He hated hearing this, the retelling of that emotionally and mentally exhausting year it that was. He hated the anger that would simmer in him at the recollection of his pleading with Hermione, at how dangerous yet fearless the young woman was—it stressed him out. _She _stressed him out for months at that time whenever she would bring the tomes around and inquire about written texts in his library; he was surrounded by dark artifacts and dealings his entire life, he knew those tomes were not to be handled lightly. He pled with her from the start to rid herself of them.

"What did they say?" asked Sirius. His face no longer held humor; his brows were knitted, and hands tightly clasped together. He spent three years fantasizing about this day—a day where he would understand his fortunate resurrection, when he could stare Hermione in the eyes and get closure. But the more he listened, the less sure he was; bile threatened his throat and his stomach turned. Her eyes darted to him.

"They lured me in. It spoke to me, but I could never remember its contents after. It was like my mind was erased until I returned back to the volumes. I became obsessed," Hermione admitted, dropping her head. "I had to be willing to lose everything. I thought of every important thing to me—my friends, my career, my future—and I accepted losing it all to bring back the dead. For Teddy, for Harry, for Lucius and Draco."

Silence befell them once more, but Hermione's glassy eyes were wary of Snape. She watched him stare into his hands as if it were the first time he saw them, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He lifted his head to look at her and Hermione could feel her breath leave her at the pure vulnerability reflected in the dark man's eyes.

"Why not Narcissa?" he asked.

_He asked. _

_ He said it. _

Hermione released a suffering sigh, the tears burning at her eyes mercilessly as she fought them. She caught her bottom lip roughly as she clenched her hands; they were sitting beside each other, the closest she probably has ever been to the man. At the look on her face, Severus' brows rose in understanding, his mouth parting with an _ah._

"It was _supposed _to be Narcissa, wasn't it, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly. Hermione kept her eyes on him, unwavering although every emotion in her told her to run away—_because that's what you're good at, _her inner voice said—and nodded slowly. Severus stood suddenly, causing her to jump. "I need some air."

"Severus—"

"_Alone, _Lucius."

Lucius did not fight him. They watched as Snape quickly departed through the back doors into the night.


	12. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Down the Rabbit Hole**

"Hermione… is that true?" asked Sirius. He could tell Hermione was fighting her emotions as she stared at the door which Snape made his exit, her hands balled together on her lap; he gently laid a hand on hers, her red eyes slowly rolling to meet him. He smiled softly at her, which only caused her to release a shuttering sigh. It was all too much.

"I—yes, Narcissa, you, and Remus," she said quietly. She looked to the ceiling to fight the onslaught of tears. "You three were the original plan, but I honestly wanted anyone I could to come through: Lily, James, Fred…Tonks."

Remus' visibly straightened, a depression rolling over him like cold waves. He thought of his late wife every day—every morning when he woke and every night before he shut his eyes; he saw her everywhere, in everyone, especially in Teddy. He stared at Hermione as if he was looking through her into a different world as flashes of memories descended on him. He met her eyes, and the growing beast in him quelled, sighing its release. He saw not just a powerful and relentless witch, but an extraordinarily loving woman, however stubborn. A woman who set forth on the impossible with no intent for glory or fame, but out of pure love for those around her. Reckless love.

His wolf hummed in agreement.

"Someone should check on Snape," Remus said in a quiet voice. Lucius stood but halted when Hermione hurried beside him and rested a hand on his arm.

"I'll go," she said firmly. Lucius eyed her warily before nodding and stepping aside.

Hermione quickly closed the distance between her and the French doors and slowly peaked out before exiting. She found Severus standing in the middle of the grass in the crisp wind, cloak billowing around him like guarded wings. She stepped gingerly down the steps as she held herself for warmth, abusing her bottom lip relentlessly.

"I am not sure whether I am angrier that this life was forced upon me, or that I was not your intended reclamation," came his voice suddenly. It was soft and thoughtful, lacking all the bitterness Hermione had expected. His back was still towards her, but she could see his pale fists balled tightly at his side. He half turned her way with a guarded expression on his face and observed her carefully, from her toes to her curls. "I have been angry with you for a long time, Miss Granger."

"So I have read," she replied before she could help herself. She peered up at him through thick lashes, caution in her eyes. He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw until it hurt, his now even teeth grinding against one another, before opening them and sighing.

"I won't apologize for it," he said. She shrugged.

"I don't expect you too, Severus," she said a small voice, her eyes avoiding him.

Snape froze in place, a quiet hum vibrating through his veins. His limbs jumped with static, and although he thought it was because of the cold, it felt like liquid heat coursing through him. It fluttered in his chest and webbed up his neck, warming his face to the tip of his ears. Even his tongue tingled. Then, a sudden drop of emotion washed over him like a cold bath and pulled at his gut. He ground his teeth more before reaching into his cloak.

"_Fuck!" _swore Snape, and before she realized it, Hermione found herself at the end of his wand. Her body loosened as she took a small step back, her hand up. "_Raise your wand."_

Hermione shook her head and new tears sprung to her eyes, but she recollected herself and stood a little firmer with her hands up in submission, pressing forward.

"I can't do that, Professor."

He closed the space between them and pressed the cool tip of his black wand against her cheek rather aggressively, causing the girl to yelp in surprise.

"I can't—"

"Or wont? _Raise. Your. Wand, Miss Granger!" _he snapped again, grabbing her wrist.

"I CAN'T," she bellowed as she tried to yank her hand free from the man's grasp. There were thunderous footsteps on the back porch as the doors slammed open and the others came to see what the commotion was. Sirius and Remus immediately honed their wands and aimed for Snape until Lucius pushed forward, slapping their armed hands out of his way.

"_Severus, don't you dare," _Lucius commanded in a deadly tone. His eyes held no warmth as he regarded his former friend with callousness; there was a dark rage burning within the Malfoy and he could feel himself lose control any given moment, mixed with excruciating anxiety as he watched Hermione struggle against the man. Fear was evident on her face, but he knew she was not fearful _of _Severus Snape, but of being exposed. She huffed as she dug her nails into his hand, causing Snape to hiss in pain and loosen his grasp a bit, giving her enough room to withdraw her hand from his hold; it was half expected for her to turn tail and hide behind Lucius, but it was immensely more surprisingly when her hand whipped up and impacted across Snape's cheek with a stinging sound.

The wind rushed around them, the grounds growing colder by the moment. Snape faced away from her, a fresh welt rapidly growing on his cheek, burning with the harsh wind against it. Hermione's chest heaved with every breath she deeply inhaled, her shoulders rising and falling as she violently shook; her neat cerebral compartments came undone, every file falling and collapsing into a mess in her mind. Her brows were tight and usually welcoming eyes hard, foreboding, as she stared up at her former professor.

"_I don't have magic anymore!" _she yelled at him. She touched her face to find herself crying but simply wiped it away, her hands inked by her make up. Snape finally turned to her, his eyes unreadable but, surprisingly, not malicious. He grasped her hand again and quickly placed it against his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding against him for escape.

But she felt more. Warmth? Electricity? It was an unusual feeling as it caressed her from under his skin. Her fingers felt like they melted into him as they grew warmer and warmer—she was entranced. Blinking away the wetness from her eyes, Hermione felt a calmness trickle over her and could feel her pulse slow evenly, matching Severus.

"Severus," she spoke, searching his face in confusion.

A throb pulsated under her hand, causing her to gasp as the familiar and gentle tug of a power long lost resonated, embracing her like an old friend, showering her in warmth and sunlight she had not seen in three years. It whispered encouraging words to her and tickled her nose, before descending again until it was almost hard to feel.

"What…"

Hermione pulled her hand back and held it against her shaking chest, and the feeling of loss all over again shrouded her. Her face crumpled slightly as her head whipped to the other men around her.

"It's in me," said Severus, buttoning his top before retrieving his wand from the ground. His eyes met the others' heated gaze before looking back at the young witch. "And I'm sure it's in them, as well."

Hermione's eyes grew colder—what was he playing at? She felt complete emotional whiplash from the predatorial man a second before compared to the collected one before her now. She studied his face for lies—for teasing—and seeing none made her all the more anxious. What was that she felt? It felt like…her. Like the invisible friend she had alongside her all her life up until that fateful night in the Death Chamber. She watched Snape touch his cheek with a slight wince and his eyes reflected something she never expected to see—pity? Surely, he was simply riling her up.

"That's not possible," she said quietly. He stepped closer and she took several back, torn between folding in on herself and plummeting her former professor. Lucius stood beside her and wrapped a firm arm around her as Remus and Sirius came forth with their wands still at the ready; in the half moonlight, the wolfman's golden irises gleamed threatening like the apex predator he was, his chest heaving and jaw tight.

"_Put those away!" _hissed Lucius. Neither man listened, their sights strictly on the dark potioneer. "We do not know the effects of Hermione's condition; we do not know if exposure to magic like this could alert the ministry or, worse, harm her."

"You have charms around this property, Malfoy," Sirius shot back without turning, his voice harsh.

"It's one of the few conditions to wizarding law," offered Draco. He placed his coat around the shaking girl, gently tugging her, only to be met by resistance. He paused when he saw the dark expression marring her usually soft features, eyes full of turmoil and…hate? She shook violently as he still held her hand, tugging more. His voice grew hushed. "Hermione, let's go inside."

""I knew already. I saw nothing of magic in the walls of that house…but I had hoped you would disarm me. Clearly, you cannot,"Severus said in an even tone. His gaze never wavered from the girl, his savior. His heart was palpitating erratically; he was never irrational, never impulsive, but he did not know what came over him to be so frightening. He felt regret bubble in his chest and his assaulted face throb more. The girl was strong. "I still want answers."

"Don't you think if I knew I wouldn't be here living like a muggle? Do you honestly think I ran away because I was _afraid _of the Ministry?" she spat in a low voice. She shook Draco off and stormed forward. She felt it, the three-year-old, tightly shut chamber deep within her unclasping every lock and losing every key. Her face was contorted with anguish. "I wasn't afraid to die, Snape! I was afraid of being ostracized by the very people and community I love because I am not _useful anymore!_ I am _ordinary! _I have no answers for you, I have nothing for you!"

Her voice escalated with every word, venom dripping with each syllable, tears blinding her along with rage. She paused, inhaling, and raising her hands to speak again, though this time, defeat lined her voice.

"I…am nothing now," she said in an even voice as she used her shaking hands to strengthen her words, swiping them. Hermione didn't regard Snape before she turned heel, her eyes avoiding Remus and Sirius like plagues, only to briefly catch Lucius' own. Her poker face was slipping, her bottom lip crumbling as her vulnerability was expressed to only him and shook her head. He knew this was enough.

"Hermione," said Sirius suddenly, his wand stowed away. He trotted up behind

and laid a careful hand on her, turning her. The sight before him shattered his heart, threatening the strong restraint he held that was the only thing between him and Severus Snape. Her liner and mascara were smeared around her eyes and high cheeks, dropping onto her top in large droplets of tears, her brows crinkled so hard it looked like wrinkles would stay; her lips were turned downward and quivered with the threat of complete breakdown. But her eyes were the worst—he never saw such misery and shame in them. He knew that feeling well. But he also understood some boundaries. Instead of pressing her, he laid his rough hand atop her curls and pressed a delicate kiss on her forehead, his eyes briefly closing, before whispering again. "Please rest for a moment. You don't have to say anything more."

Hermione's eyes widened, but she tore away before she completely lost it, untangling herself from Sirius and quickly retreating inside. He watched from the French doors as she hurried down the hall and disappeared up the steps, her face in her hands. Sighing with frustration, he ran a hand over his hair before whipping around and snapping his wand at Severus, a red light blasting forth like lightning and hitting the unexpected man in the chest.

"_Black!" _exclaimed Lucius, applying pressure to the bridge of his nose. This was getting out of hand.

Sirius ignored him and quickly closed the space between himself and a stunned Severus. He crouched down low where the man lay motionless, cool eyes piercing into black, as he held his wand at his nose.

"Remus, let's have a chat with Snivellus here, shall we?"

The wolf within Remus howled with triumph as he started forward.

"You read my mind, Padfoot."


	13. No Peace

**No Peace**

"_So I'll light up a cigarette__  
__I'll drink it down 'til there's nothing left__  
__'Cause I sure can't get no sleep__  
__And Lord knows there's no relief"_

_No Peace – Sam Smith & YEBBA_

Lucius quietly knocked on Hermione's door with his ear near but was met with nothing. He knocked again, a little louder, until he heard her bed creak and feet slowly shuffle across wood; the lock clicked, denying him entrance.

"Hermione," he said gently, leaning against her door. "Are you alright?"

He heard a sniffle. "I'll be fine."

"You do not have to hide from me, you know that," he said. He watched Draco deftly ascend the stairs and held a finger to his lips. His son nodded, leaning against the closest railing to listen. Lucius pointed downstairs and Draco waved his hand in annoyance; clearly the Gryffindors were having a one on one with his friend.

No, he could not call him a friend after tonight. Lucius understood the bitter man was dealt a nefarious hand in life, falling victim to those more powerful and clever than him countless times, and he had to admit he made excuses for the man endlessly. Granted, Severus also fell under Lucius' thumb, as well, at a time. But this was different. He felt the Potions Master had been given a gift—however unwanted—and although he does not need to be grateful for it, he is responsible for bettering himself, solely. It did not excuse the perpetual cycle of trauma he was inflicting on those around him.

Least of all, when it concerned Hermione Granger.

"You know father and I would never allow something to happen to you," Draco said, coming closer and speaking into the frame. "You did well today, you know. You took a chance, and although it didn't turn out the way you wanted it, you can't say you didn't try."

The lock clicked again, and Lucius released his breath. He had to thank the girl for softening his son; Draco had a way with words he did not, especially when it came to Hermione. He stepped away from the door as it opened and was rather surprised to see her face dry and free of running make up, although her eyes were still red. She looked up at him sadly.

"I'm so sorry," she said miserably. "I-I'm sorry that I couldn't bring Narcissa back for you—that _he _is here instead. That all of this mess has happened because of me. I'm sorry I have been a burden to you all—"

Lucius would hear no more and pulled the young woman into his arms, firmly holding her against his chest with strong arms as his hands gently held her face upward. Surprise lit on her face although unshed tears began to glisten in her eyes. Enough was enough.

"Listen to me, Hermione. You are an amazing woman, magic or not; if you were never a witch, I know you would still be just as extraordinary. Your heart is the strongest I have known—although you take on too much. However, you do not need to be strong all the time. You honed magic capabilities centuries beyond your years and triumphantly succeeded where everyone else has failed. I am incredibly proud of you, Hermione. _You are enough." _

Hermione's lip trembled and she frantically nodded as the crippling anxiety boiling in her slowly washed away with his honest words. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face in his chest, silent sobs wracking her body; Lucius held her tighter and Hermione could feel the pressure calming her.

"I'm sorry you feel you failed us," muttered Lucius. He leaned his face down into her curls, breathing in deeply. He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed his late wife did not rise from the veil that day at the Ministry—he had missed her terribly, and still did—but Hermione's defiance for the laws of nature and the wizarding world was the most virtuous act of love he ever saw—ever _felt. _If he were an honest man, from the moment his wife brought Hemione into their world, Lucius was uneasy about his position in the girl's life; he valued her opinion and feelings from the beginning of their friendship, regardless of the formalities he enforced to set boundaries, which were only to protect himself. He did not understand how easily she fit into their lives after the treacherous years she experienced thanks to his dark hand: petrification, taunting, torture under his own roof…yet she effortlessly accepted him and, in turn, afflicted him with so much more.

"I love you, Hermione," he said with strength, ignoring Draco's head that popped up from the side, a wild look on his son's face. It slipped from his mouth naturally, and he understood why the young woman said it so often to them, so easily. It felt good. It felt right. "You are important to me, and to Draco. But more, _you are important—_regardless of what you can or cannot do. And I am _grateful _to have you here with us."

Hermione pulled away, her face flushed and watery smile curving her lips, and held his hand and Draco's, squeezing affectionately. Her heart swelled when she looked at the two Malfoy men, but words failed her. She studied Lucius' usually collected face, which was now soft and relaxed as she ever saw him, watching as the years long storm that brewed within his steel eyes simply…evaporate. There was clarity.

"I am grateful to be here. I am grateful for you, Lucius," she said with newfound confidence. Her eyes snapped to her classmate, her smile softening. She could tell he was feeling a tad insecure—something they often talked about during late nights awake in the living room with hot cocoa, in regard to his father's shadow he frequently felt shrouded by—and met his cool eyes directly. "And I am grateful for you, Draco. You are both the most important people in my life."

The affection eventually suffocated Draco, and he scoffed lightly. "We are the _only _people in your life, Granger."

Lucius cast his son a disapproving glare which only caused the young muggleborn to laugh, her hands pulling from them to cover her mouth.

"Well, not anymore," she said. The Malfoys grew quiet, staring at her. She leaned against the frame of her door as her eyes lingered to the ceiling in thought. "I…am not ready to go back. But I think I would be alright to be friends with them again."

"You're not obligated to, you know," said Draco, frowning and crossing his arms. "Especially Snape."

"_Especially _Snape," confirmed Lucius. He knew this would happen, and he also knew it was completely out of his control now, despite his warnings. He knew the more he tried to put a lock on the situation, the more Hermione would rebel against him. Lucius mentally sighed, glancing over the two thirty-year-olds—he hoped Azkaban had three cells beside each other. He grumbled in a very un-Malfoy manner, causing Hermione to raise her brows at him. "I am going to make sure the dogs haven't torn apart their new toy."

With that, he began stalking down the stairs, rather annoyed. Must he be responsible _all _the time? Hermione watched him go and looked at her friend as if she just saw him.

"Oh—you left them alone out there!" she chastised Draco, realization dawning on her. Draco rolled his eyes.

"They'll be fine, Granger. Isn't this how they were at Hogwarts, anyway? Snape should be used to it," he said rather flippantly, casually studying his cuticles. She smacked his arm and he shot her an affronted look. "Well he deserves it, anyway, manhandling you like that."

"He was very wrong…" she said quietly, her eyes looking off to the stairs. "But he's right. I felt something in him. It felt like…like my magic. Like my essence."

Draco eyed her curiously before his gaze fell to his hands again.

"You miss it, don't you?"

She gave him a small smile. "Wouldn't you?"

There was a brief silence, then, "Yeah."

Sirius tapped his wand impatiently against his bicep, arms crossed and nostrils flaring, his eyes cold as he observed Snape sitting on the grass, no longer stunned. The bitter man pressed eyes against his palms in hopes to ease the throbbing headache that afflicted him after being stupefied so viciously. The animagus held no remorse for his actions; he kept his impulsivities to a minimum since given a second chance at life, so when he felt his reins slacken at Snape's actions, he had no regrets.

Except maybe allowing Remus to prevent him from blasting Snape into the next realm.

He glanced at the werewolf beside him, up to the glowing half-moon, and back down to his friend. It was peculiar how much control Remus held considering what they had just witnessed, so close to the full moon, especially after attacking Snape just the other night the moment he stepped through the floo. He wondered if perhaps the irritating man was right—that Hermione's energy was coursing through them—and maybe, just maybe, it either quelled or inflamed the Resurrected Three. His eyes snapped to Severus as he made to stand and lazily aimed his wand.

"And where, pray tell, do you think you're going?"

Snape released a withering sigh, glaring at the ex-bully from the corner of his eye. "Home."

"Not so fast," came Lucius Malfoy's chilly voice as he strode across the dewy grass. He paused at Sirius, eyes narrowing at the wand; the animagus conceded and made a face of defeat as he slipped the weapon away. Lucius regarded Snape once more. "If it were up to me, you would be obliviated in this instant, Snape, with your first new memory being my wrath.

You were given specific, simple rules when coming here. I thought these years being alive would make you a better man, but I seem to have overestimated you. Imagine my disappointment," he continued, seething. "Hermione has been through a great deal, and you just added to that weight. _All _of you."

Remus huffed beside them. He was unusually quiet, but Sirius could see his fingers pressing violently into his crossed forearms, clearly fighting his animalistic twin. He shook his head roughly and rolled his shoulders, a deep sigh escaping him as he stepped forward. His eyes still flickered between beast and man, strain clearly stretched across his face, and a vein protruding dangerously at his neck.

"Is she alright?" said Remus with a bit of bite; he cleared his throat and shook his head again, bowing his head in apology. "My apologies. I didn't mean—"

"She is fine," Lucius said slowly. His brow rose as he thought for a moment until a sly smirk twitched at his lips. "Ah, so you are who roughed up Severus yesterday. Surprising, considering how…docile I remembered you, Lupin."

Remus smiled politely. "The wolf is not so docile."

Lucius nodded, his eyes rolling from one former dead man to the next, mulling over the events. He thought after the mayhem that occurred—which he foresaw, naturally—that his resolve would be as unmoving as ever; he thought, after tonight, he could uproot Hermione once more, though this time, permanently and elusively. But something inside him sensed impeding defeat, and all he could do now was support his favorite witch through her trials.

"I am setting some boundaries," Lucius said firmly, his eyes snapping to the stoic Snape first. "_Strict _boundaries."

Severus scoffed but kept quiet. Both Sirius and Remus nodded in agreement.

"We understand," said Remus. His eyes cast up to the house behind, the soft scent of Hermione gently wafting in the air. "We did not take Hermione's feelings into consideration tonight. As much as I want to be…near her, this is not about m—_us."_

Sirius nodded again as his placed a comforting hand on his best mate's shoulder and squeezed. He looked at the tall blonde with a stern expression. "You have our apologies for disturbing the life you created for Hermione. I'm thankful she has had you and Draco. I cannot fathom how she has felt all this time…"

Lucius was taken aback for a moment, recalling their three years together. He could count on one hand how many times Hermione has openly cried or vocalized her pain since her refuge; he vividly remembered how poised and collected she was almost immediately, leaving nearly no time before throwing herself into employment. Even after reading the contents of Snape's damned memoir she had begged Draco weeks to get her, she did not waver; she did not react as someone who was being dogged and underappreciated after such an incredible feat. Sirius' simple words bothered him: he supplied a home, funds, and company for a lonely and weakened witch, but had he been blind to her other, _deeper _needs? Had he been emotionally absent all this time? Could he have been better?

"Malfoy?" came Sirius' voice rather firmly. Lucius blinked away the haze and snapped his head back to the man who was still talking. Sirius raised his brows. "Your conditions?"

"You may write to her as you like, as long as she agrees. You may see her—here, in _our _home—with her consent. Draco or I will be present for every visit—"

Severus laughed openly, lacking all amusement. Mockery lined his face. "_Draco? _What dominance could he possibly assert?"

"You haven't seen how the boy looks at Hermione? I'm sure he'd hex your bollocks off, Snape," Sirius shot back, mirth lit in his eyes. As quiet and concealed Draco was that night, observing them all like rats in a cage, Sirius was equally studying his cousin; he noted how he watched Hermione's smallest movement and mannerisms, gauging her reactions in order to react himself. He saw that Lucius was the same, though the young Malfoy heir was subtle in his attempts to assuage the girl. Sirius wonder if something was there, a little deeper than a coat slung over shaking shoulders.

His eyes met Lucius' and it seemed as if the man's mind floated to the same thought.

The unusual life of Hermione and the Malfoys brought unexpected calmness in the heart of the animagus. Although he knew the Potters, Weasleys, and Teddy missed their swotty friend something fierce, he felt at ease knowing she has been living a safe and content existence regardless of the circumstances. However bizarre the arrangement was, he knew, deep down, these men cared for the girl. He could not ask for more.

"Of course, we will keep discretion as well," Sirius offered Lucius. Remus nodded beside him and sighed.

"It will be difficult," Remus said solemnly. He rolled his shoulders again, cracking his neck and shifting uncomfortably, before turning to Sirius. "I think we should take our leave for tonight. Moony is being fussy."

"I will assume you have the vigilance to stay away from Hermione over the next week," said Lucius, a finger regarding the moon above.

"Of course," replied Remus in a rather clipped tone. He sighed in frustration and he glanced at their quiet fourth with exhaustion. "Snape?"

"I wanted to leave long ago," the dark man in a bored voice. He stepped forward towards the house but was met by Lucius' strong arm catching him across the chest.

"I think you've said enough tonight, Severus." Lucius' voice was low and held dark promises as he regarded his former colleague. "You should count your blessings that I respect Hermione's wishes to befriend you instead of acting on every impulse I have fought tonight."

Severus sneered. "How unusually knightly of you, Lucius. Your rewards must be…_exhilarating _to act so chivalrously. Whatever would Narcissa think?"

There was an audible intake of air from one of the other men, but Lucius ignored them, a humorless laugh passing his lips as he gave Snape a smirk.

"I would have loved to know if she were standing before me instead of you," Lucius said simply. He paid no mind to the contortion that twisted at Severus' face as he leaned in closer to the man's ear. "Oh, and happy birthday, I suppose."

Lucius padded his shoulder patronizingly and nodded his goodbyes to Remus and Lupin before turning heel and disappearing into the warm home. The lights snuffed from the property within moments, and they were left in a familiar darkness.


	14. This Morning, with her, Having Coffee

**This Morning, with her, Having Coffee**

Sirius was having one of those nights again, where the shadows crawling against the walls and creaks of the home were his only friends during his episodes. He laid in his bed, still in his trousers, with his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. A great strain pulsated in his chest, trickling with coldness over his body to the tips of his fingers, and spasming in his gut. He took slow, steady breaths, visualizing his lungs filling up with oxygen to sustain him. Blinking away the dryness of his eyes as he zoned out, Sirius let out a shuttering sigh.

This was the third…_whatever _it was, this week. The flashbacks of his twelve years incarcerated in Azkaban prison and his own death cruelly accompanied him on the nights he lay frozen in bed; the overwhelming anxiety came and went as it pleased, and exhaustion would soon follow, though sleep did not. Sirius repeated this cycle by drinking copious amounts of coffee the following day because of a sleepless night, only to fall victim all over again. He felt like he was laying there for hours already and was thankful when he felt the psychological monster's grip slipping from his chest, air flowing easier with each breath.

Sirius did not want to think about everything that has happened. He could not. It allowed _too _much in, caused too many existential thoughts and regrets; besides, Hermione was alive, and he could not ask for more. He understood how selfish it would be to ask more of her after everything the young witch did for him. But he could not help feeling guilty when the image of her broken expression flashed in his mind's eyes—he was sure that would be burnt into memory forever. He did not understand how _okay _she seemed given the results of her defiance, let alone be haunted by the horrors of her past.

Or, perhaps, he was a little envious. He was envious of her will power and strength to overcome her trauma, much unlike himself. He shook his head as if trying to banish the invasive thoughts when he realized he had full control of his body again. As promised, the exhaustion came over him, so he crawled under the covers with no care to remove his remaining clothes, and began drifting, only to be met with Hermione's destroyed face again. His eyes snapped open again as the next thought attacked him, causing his heart to skip.

_So much pain on that face, _he thought, _I do not want to be the cause of that. Not after everything. _

Sleep beckoned him once more, only to be interrupted by another commanding thought.

_Moony's cycle is going to be bad this time around_

_ We need more wolfsbane, bandages, pain cream_

_ Wolfsbane? Need more vials, too_

_ I wonder if Snape will still brew it_

_ I really want to hurt him sometimes, bloody git_

_Teddy needs a new pewter cauldron_

_ How did he break it in less than a month into his first year?_

Sirius threw his fists back against the bed in frustration before snapping up and rummaging through his nightstand. He pulled out parchment and a quill and began writing.

_Dear Hermione…_

He paused, tapping the quill in deep thought.

"This could get intercepted," he said aloud. He dropped big blobs of ink across her name to get rid of it.

_Dear…_

What the hell could he call her? He realized he only knew her a short time in her youth, not long enough to really know her well, and definitely was a stranger to the woman she became after Hogwarts.

_Dear…_

Still, Sirius felt no need for formalities with Hermione. Even in her three-year-long absence, he felt an understanding of the person she was, only regretting he couldn't know first hand. She greeted Remus and himself so familiarly even though they had just thrown a major wrench into her plans.

_Dear…_

He felt it would be amazing to get to know Hermione Granger better—the witch, the muggle, the woman, and everything in between—to know what gets under her skin and what eases her. Sirius stared at the line once more, smiling softly to himself. _Dear… _he left the line at that, finding it fitting, and continued on as the sun slowly rose to welcome him.

Sirius watched Remus carefully at the table that morning. The Potters had gone to the Burrow early, leaving just the two men, with Teddy upstairs with his head in a book. He loved his growing family, but he would be lying if he didn't appreciate some quiet time, especially with his best mate. The werewolf's eyes were shrouded by heavy bags weighing them down and a prickly beard began growing over his face; his hair was disheveled and stuck up on some ends, too. Sirius' eyes lit with humor as he watched his friend sag against the chair with his face leaning against one palm and the other holding a mug of fresh brew. Remus' slowly blinked his eyes and caught sight of the amused expression on the other man's face.

"I find it hilarious that you have never been a morning person, Remus, considering how proper and put together you usually are," teased Sirius as he sipped his own coffee. Remus huffed indignantly then ran his hands messily through his hair, slumping further.

"This cycle will be the death of me, Padfoot," the man muttered pathetically. "Moony is all over the place. He is agitated, hungry, exhilarated, and…_aroused _all at the same time."

Sirius sputtered into his mug and fought back a witty remark when his friend shot him a warning look. His lips twitched at the reaction he visualized.

"Well, he is animalistic, after all. All he needs are the three F's: Food, fighting, and fucking, not in that order," Sirius said with a shrug.

"Sirius!" Remus groaned as he leaned his forehead against the hard tabletop. Sirius could not help himself as he slipped into snorting laughter, which only grew more terrible when Remus' own shoulders shook with amusement.

"Ah, dear Moony, you are too easy sometimes," sang Sirius. "Perhaps after this phase you should look for a nice witch."

"I'm not like you, Padfoot. I cannot bury myself into a woman to forget," said Remus with a frown. Sirius paused for a moment, his mug mid lift, eying his friend quietly.

"I am not that person anymore," he said simply. The mood quickly sobered as they sat for a few moments, drinking their brew in silence. "I am…not saying to _bury _yourself in a witch. What I am getting at is that, maybe…you are…lonely?"

Sirius' sounded as if he also questioned the words escaping from his mouth. They rarely spoke about women or…love, anymore. Before their death, especially in their youth, Sirius recalled late nights at the astronomy tower, just the two of them, at their most vulnerable, fearful for the future that was shrouded with approaching war, fearful for dreams unmet; when they weren't scheming and conspiring new pranks, they spoke in hushed tones about families, homes, and happiness. Other than his innocent heart, Sirius clung onto those dreams throughout his years in the dark prison, with hope he could one day be worthy of every single one of them.

"I do miss companionship," admitted Remus in a quiet voice, leaning back in his chair and observing Sirius. "But…Teddy—"

"Will always know his mother," interjected Sirius. "And also deserves a happy father. Tell me, when was the last time you were happy since returning?"

A soft blush crept up the man's neck and his eyes downcast, unaware of Sirius' knowing gaze. Remus lifted his head and looked to the ceiling with a contemplative smile.

"When we found out Hermione was alive," he answered quietly. His eyes rolled down, staring at his best friend from the corner of his eyes. "I'm assuming it's the same for you, Pads."

Sirius sighed and slumped back in his chair, frowning at his friend. "Shit."

**A/N: Hello all! Thanks for making it this far. I'm really enjoying myself and I'm glad you are, too. Short chapter but one I love; it's just a little deeper, you know? **


	15. Bad Moon

**Bad Moon **

_You cry a little in the dark_

_Well, so do I,_

_I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to say_

_But I can see it's not okay_

_Letters to Hermione – David Bowie_

Sirius was pretty certain he had cracked ribs. He winced and swore loudly when trying to shift his weight in his bed as both Snape and Ginny tended to his wounds with bandages and cream. He shut his eyes so hard he saw lines of light behind them, gasping as he shifted a little too far. He could feel blood pool in his mouth from the beast's strong hind legs that collided with his jaw earlier—he was sure apparating back to Grimmauld place worsened his injuries.

"If you keep moving, you will puncture a lung," Severus snapped as he pressed gauze to an open wound. He paused, glancing up, a dark smirk playing at his lips. "Actually, _do _keep it up."

"Oh, bugger off, Snape," moaned Sirius. He swore again when Snape pressed a little harder and the ointment seeped into the aggravated slice. "_I will kill you."_

Severus' said nothing as his skilled hands worked relentlessly across the man's abdomen, fluctuating being tearing bandage, applying herbs, wrapping, and repeat. His brow was knitted in concentration, small beads of sweating developing above, and mouth moving wordlessly as he recalled the steps.

"You are bleeding profusely. You may need to go to St Mungo's for this, Black," said Severus, not looking up. Sirius growled in argument and swatted the man away then grasped his own wand off the nightstand.

"Like hell I am," he muttered. Sirius shook his wand thrice and its end glowed dangerously red. He did not hesitate. He locked his jaw, grinding his teeth, and rolled the inflamed wand across his wound; the room immediately filled with the smell of burning flesh, and Snape and Ginny both watched in horror as the skin blistered and grew angry. Sirius' voice rose in agony as he tore his wand from his body, bits of skin webbing off with it, and tossed it aside the bed. He was drenched in sweat and panted like an overheated dog. "There. Fixed."

"_Sirius!_" Ginny berated, crawling over the bed and examining his side. Her nose scrunched up as she made a face at both men. "Well…it stopped bleeding."

"Idiot," was all Snape said. He gathered the medical supplies into a small leather bag and tossed a vial on the bed. "Take that for seven days."

"Many thanks, Healer Snape," drawled Sirius. He uncorked the vial and took a sip, making a disgusted face. Snape rolled his eyes and exited the room without another word, followed by Ginny. Remus' disheveled form then stepped in, cautiously eying his friend from the doorway. Sirius waved a hand impatiently. "Moony, don't hover. I'm fine, just come in."

Remus quietly obliged and sat at the end of the bed, half turned to his mate. He had a bruise darkening his cheek and eye and wrappings peeking out from his collar.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," he muttered quietly. His head hung low as shame marred his kind features. "I-I don't know why this has been so hard. I'm barely hurt but look at yourself."

Sirius waved his hand again. Yes, he was hurt, and yes it sucked, but this came with the territory. The animagus was more than happy to be roughed up by the werewolf during bad phases if it meant keeping Moony and others safe. He just wished he had more help, really.

"Remus, I'm alright, now. Ginny and Snape tended to me, I cauterized myself, I—"

"You _what?" _exclaimed Remus as he shot to his feet and hurried over to his side, his face immediately turning into Remus the Dad as he crossed his arms and slowly blinked at his careless friend. Sirius gave him a reassuring smile but knew deep down the wolfman wouldn't mind breaking his other ribs right now.

"It's alright, dear, I'll be in tip-top shape in a week. Then we can scour the land together for mates, mate," said Sirius. His words only flustered Remus more, who ran his palms over his face and released a frustrated sigh.

"You are insufferable, Sirius," he scolded. Sirius shrugged. He knew this already. He watched as Remus' face softened, his eyes full of regret as they rolled over his body; Sirius knew his injuries were far more severe than they ever were during the phase, and he knew they could only get worse with each moon. "Thank you, Padfoot."

Sirius reached for the man's hand and gave it a shake. "Always, mate."

The door creaked open again and in popped a teal head of curls, bobbing back and forth on excited feet. Teddy was beaming in his Hufflepuff robes and his hands rubbed protectively over a new shining cauldron.

"Uncle Sirius, thank you, thank you, thank you!" exclaimed the excited eleven-year- old. His hair flashed an array of colors—his eyes matching, to boot—before settling down into the hue of blue they were all familiar with. "I promise I'll be _so _careful with this one!"

Sirius laughed, wincing a little at the pain it caused. He heard that one before; if there was one thing the boy inherited from his late mother it definitely was being accident prone. Remus' moustache twitched with humor before a stern look came over his face.

"It's late, Teddy. You should be sleeping before we return to Hogwarts tomorrow. Professor McGonagall will be displeased if you fall asleep during her class again after she kindly allowed you to come home this weekend," Remus said in his usual father tone. His eyes glanced to the boy's hair. "And maybe we can try and wear your natural color while at Hogwarts?"

Teddy's face flushed red as his eyes crossed, staring up at the tight curls hanging on his forehead. His eyes narrowed with concentration until, slowly, the teal descended to sandy locks. He blinked to fix his vision then smiled proudly at the two men.

"Such a spoil sport," muttered Sirius, earning him a sharp look from the wolfman and snickers from his pup. Teddy's smirk faded as he looked from his father's bruised face to his uncle's battered form; he carefully rested the cauldron on the floor before circling the bed and taking a seat beside Sirius. His eyes were sad as he laid a gentle finger over the rough bandages.

"Are you alright, Padfoot?" he asked in a soft voice. Sirius blinked at him; it was always astounding how empathetic the young boy was. Sirius hoped he never lost that.

"Of course, I am. I am _much _stronger than old Moony here," Sirius answered quickly, winking at the lad. A small grin played at Teddy's face as he opened his mouth to speak—most likely something unknowingly witty—until a grey horned owl swooped in through the half open window, landing expertly on the bedpost and slowly blinking yellow eyes at them.

"Bartemus!" exclaimed Teddy, reaching for the letter.

"Wait, Teddy—"

Sirius hissed with pain as he quickly tried to beat his nephew to the parcel, but the young boy was too quick. He pulled the white envelope from its claws, his face frowning at the bizarre, thin paper, and flipped it. Teddy's lips popped into a small O as he read the neat script sprawled across it.

_Fuck, _Sirius thought, casting Remus a panicked looked. The werewolf squinted at him in confusion and came a little closer.

"Who's it for, Teddy?"

"Sirius," the boy said in a low voice. He slowly passed it to Sirius, who's heart was thumping like a racehorse's, and watched the man closely. Sirius's breath eased as all he saw was his name written, no return address to fear. When he felt the boy's eyes on him, he tossed the letter aside and smiled a little too warmly at him. "I'll read it later."

Teddy's was preoccupied running his small hand over Bartemus' light feathers and brought a finger under the familiar's beak to rub. His brows raised for a moment as a slow smile crept over his face. "Padfoot, can I bring Bartemus to Hogwarts? I want to be able to write letters to everyone while I'm there."

Sirius frowned. "Bartemus? He's old. And not to mention, a bit menacing sometimes. Why not buy another?"

Bartemus hopped into the boy's presented arm, yellow eyes piercing into Sirius as if he was the most annoying man on earth, He slowly sidestepped up the boy's arm and pecked at his waves affectionately.

"Or not. Sure, you can take old Bart here."

"Thank you!"

They watched as Teddy quickly grasped his cauldron from the floor, slightly disorienting the aged owl, and dart out the door in another whirlwind of teal, unaware of the scheming grin he wore. Remus slowly walked and closed the door and cast a _muffliato _against it before turning to Sirius with a raised brow. Sirius rose the envelope and shook it slightly, a grin playing at his lips.

"It's from Hermione," he said. Remus' eyes widened for a second as he hurried to sit beside him again; Sirius bit back a teasing remark. He could not bear any further injuries.

"Hermione? You wrote to her already?" asked Remus. Sirius nodded slowly as he ran his fingers absently over the feminine writing of his moniker. The wolf stirred distantly within the man, but Remus ignored him. They were both too tired. "I hope she is well."

"I suppose we will find out, won't we?" said Sirius in a chipper voice. He ran his finger under the lip and spread it open before presenting not one but two pieces of floral paper. He and Remus' eyes met and they shared a smirk; they half expected twelve inches of parchment from the swotty girl.

_Dear Padfoot,_

_ I have to say I was surprised to have an owl attacking my window so late at night. It gave me flashbacks of when I received my Hogwarts letter—I got so excited!_

_ Anyway, I wanted to first apologize for things being so…dramatic. L and D have been wonderful, albeit, very overprotective; but I know their hearts are in the right place. If it weren't for them, who knows where I would be now. We are like a family—like you, Remus, and Harry. They may not understand me all the time, but they try. And that is all I can really ask for, after everything. They truly love me. _

_ How have things been over there? I left so suddenly, with no goodbyes. I would be lying if I said I didn't miss everyone. Teddy must be so big now and off to Hogwarts. I can just imagine McGonagall trying to discipline him—his appearance rapidly changes when he's nervous! But I'm sure you already know that._

Sirius paused for a moment and eyed Remus who sat with his back turned, hands linked and hanging between his legs, head back as he listened. When Remus was met with silence, he turned his head slightly to question Sirius, a warm smile playing at his lips.

"She knew him so well," said the man. He laughed. "She would probably get a kick out of knowing he still does that. Harry told me that once, she was baking, and my son ate half a bag of chocolate chips—him and Dora, the same, I know—and when she began questioning him, he got so nervous, he was stuck with a rabbit's nose for half a day."

Sirius laughed loudly, swearing through the pain as he did, tears of agony and amusement stinging his eyes.

"Harry told me that story, too. She panicked and brought Teddy to St Mungo's so quickly she forgot to set timing charm and nearly burn down this house," whooped Sirius. He imagined the frazzled young witch in the polka dotted apron he's seen her in, in pictures, frantically coddling over his nephew, and probably threatening the lives of every healer in the magical hospital to do something _now! _He was sure that is what exactly happened.

Remus' chest quivered with an inner laugh, his fingers strumming against his knee. He stood slowly, releasing a sigh as his body cracked and ached.

"I am exhausted," he said, some regret inking his voice as he looked at the letter.

"Don't you want to hear the rest?"

"I do, but, if I don't rest, I'll be the next one McGonagall berates for falling asleep during my _own _class," he said with a sigh. Sirius snorted.

"Alright, goodnight, _Professor," _he said with a grin. Remus shot him a look before slowly exiting. Sirius stared at the door a moment or two longer; he felt that envy again, and he hated it. The green-eyed monster had no right to his heart. He was ecstatic that Remus was reinstated as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor once more, truly, but Sirius was not sure he was ready to be completely alone in Grimmauld house. Everyone had their place in life—Aurors, Quidditch players, Professors, parents—whereas Sirius had none; he felt a disconnection from reality at times, as if fearful everything would be ripped from him again any given moment.

He stared back down at the letter and continued.

_Alright, enough about everyone else. How are _you? _You have been so incredibly understanding and level-headed about everything, it was surprising. I always imagined you quick to fight and cleverly hot-headed—but I guess that may be because we didn't really know each other well. I was a child and you were adjusting to a life of freedom. I hope you are as okay as you lead on, Padfoot. _

_ I hope to hear back from you soon. I know the moon is here, so don't feel rushed to write back. I hope Remus is safe. I'm glad you two have each other. Send everyone my love—silently, of course. I think of them every day._

_ With love_

And that was it. No name. Of course, Sirius didn't need it, but his eyes hung onto the last two words a little longer than he would have liked. He ran a finger over the words lightly before raising the paper to the candle beside him, watching it catch ablaze and slowly disintegrate. He wanted to hold onto it, like some voyager lost at sea, the letter being his only beacon, but Sirius knew he could not risk exposing her. He would not cause Hermione more suffering.


	16. Whisperer

**Whisperer**

Hermione smiled at the parchment in her hand with great affection at the aristocratic cursive that spun over it. She was surprised when the old owl came knocking to her window—she hadn't seen one in so long! It made her giddy and she felt no shame about it; magic still existed, without her, and these small occurrences filled parts of her. She had searched the room looking for some kind of reward for the impatient bird, and apologized to it when all she had was a few dehydrated pieces of fish she had bought for Gully; thankfully, the owl happily gobbled it down, releasing her parchment before taking flight in the night sky again. Although she was exhausted and it was so late, Hermione ripped it open right away and read. His words were simple and kind, reaffirming how good it was to see her and thanking her for allowing them some entrance into her life, despite the risks. He had apologized for writing so late, vaguely stating his sleep is often poor.

She frowned at that. Hermione, too, knew what it felt like, to have sleepless nights and horrendously groggy mornings, guzzling down copious amounts of coffee to get through the day, only to be stuck between pure exhaustion and jitteriness when night fell again, to wake and repeat. Her mind was always on the go, between work and existential crisis, throwing in some nightmares for flavor. She either slept for a dozen hours or a handful. She wondered what kept Sirius Black—a man who came across so carefree and righteous—up 'til the wee hours of the night. When Hermione thought of it, she figured he had a lot of reasons, his incarceration and dying by his cousin's hand being just two; she wondered if Grimmauld place kept less than stellar memories repeating in his mind.

Hermione was exhausted at work that Monday, a great fog invading her mind and making it hard to concentrate on work. It didn't help her cases for today were utterly mind numbing that she caught herself zoning out several times during conversation. She hastily covered caught up, mildly embarrassed, then dismissed them. Her boss stepped it soon after.

"Hermione, are you alright today? You've never been this…off," she said with concern. Hermione tensed, anxiety rolling over her; the woman raised her hands. "I'm not angry, but if you need a break, you should take it."

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

"You have only taken a vacation once since starting here…three years ago. Don't burn yourself out. I want you here for many years." The older woman gave her a toothy smile before leaving the young woman to her thoughts.

_A vacation?, _Hermione thought, snorting to herself, _Never._

Her mind snapped to a memory just a year into her refuge where Lucius surprised her on her birthday with a trip to the countryside where he owned yet another muggle home; she was upset at first, because this was not in her schedule, but found it both shocking and heart-warming that Lucius had secretively wooed her boss into allowing Hermione time off—not that she needed much wooing, as she adored the girl, and remarked that her _wife _should take some pointers from the man. They shared a laugh, but Hermione found the encounter far more humorous and often picked on Lucius about it. Hermione, Draco, and Lucius retreated to the countryside during the spring where to a quaint cottage on massive acres of land; there were horses in the stables and the men spent most of the time teaching Hermione the ways of riding. Draco was pleased to see the struggled atop a mare as badly as she did on a broom, teasing her endlessly. They shared nights around a fire—a bit rustic for the Malfoy men, but they dared not complain—roasting marshmallows that Hermione forced upon them, and listened to the girl recount the shenanigans she and the boys would get into, her parents, and so much more; they found her excitability endearing, her voice fluctuating with exaggerating and mimicking her characters.

Hermione smiled at the memory, staring up at the clock that read four in the afternoon. She could use a vacation, she supposed, as she began stocking away paperwork into the heavy folders; she wasn't sure when, exactly, but she thought she could step small steps now to help relax—starting with leaving at a decent time from the office. She quickly pulled up Draco's contact in her new cellphone.

_I should be home in 20 _

She didn't get to place the phone down when it pulsed.

_Really? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?_

Hermione smirked at the lit screen before tossing it in her purse and grabbing her jacket.

"See you tomorrow!" she called cheerfully. Locking her office, Hermione quickly exited and made way for the lift. When it opened with a light _ding!, _she was pleasantly surprised to see Draco, dressed as sharp as ever in a tweed coat and cabby cap. "Oh, Draco! You got here quickly."

"It's not every day my best friend gets out at a decent time," he said, ushering her in and helping her with her trench coat. Hermione felt her heart patter a little quickly, shyly smiling. He paused when he saw her expression. "What's that goofy look for, Granger?"

Heat rose in her face as she waved him away. "Nothing. It's just nice hearing that I'm your best friend."

"It's only the truth," he said simply. She laughed, and he raised a brow at her, looking so much like his father.

"I know. Like I said, it's just nice to hear."

The lift descended two floors and opened again for them.

"Well, I guess I should say it more. That look is adorable," he said, smirking. She playfully swatted his arm, causing him to laugh. "Are you hungry? We can hit that halal spot you love so much. It's nice out."

Hermione stifled a moan and rested a hand on her stomach. "I would die for it."

When they stepped outside, Hermione was pleased to feel the comfortable air unlike her usually stuffy office—as well at the sun, considering how late she has been working these days. Instinctually, Hermione slipped her arm through one of Draco's, enjoying the silence as they walked the cobblestone roads to busier London; he cast her a sideways look, contemplative, then returned his gaze forward. Before they knew it, they were in the heart of the hustle and bustle of early rush hour, street vendors and performers calling out to the one-tracked passerby's, double deck buses crowding the streets. Hermione loved sharing her muggleworld with her men, but especially Draco. He adapted so well and slipped into society as if he was never once a bigot. He excited her whenever he would stare at some simple technology or trend with a curious eye and ask her to explain it; he was receptive and appreciative of the new things she taught him, no matter how miniscule they were to the average nonmagical person.

They found their food truck at its usual location in a small park not far from her job and its delicious fumes made Hermione's stomach growl. The vendor turned to them and smiled broadly, waving them on.

"Ah! D and Hermione, long time no see! The usual?"

"Hello again, Ahmed. And yes, please!" said Hermione, smiling in return. She glanced at Draco who struck up conversation with the second cook, pointing at something in on the menu he never heard of before. While befriending the Malfoys, Hermione was surprised Draco hadn't tried an array of foreign foods, and naturally was a little apprehensive of eating from a truck; but when she finally convinced him, he scoured London for new restaurants and food spots for Hermione to take him whenever they went into the city.

When their food was ready, they found a sunny spot on a park bench and began unwrapping their goods. They shared a brief look before smirking and cutting their meals in half, trading it onto the others platter. This was something they always did. Too many times to count had they gone to dinner and couldn't decide what they wanted, so ultimately, they split their dishes, either groaning in disappointment that they didn't order the other's plate. It was a habitual pattern.

"Draco," Hermione began, warming her hands under the hot tin. "What do you think about going on vacation again?"

Draco rose a fair brow so high it nearly disappeared in his hairline. "_You? _A vacation?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, me. I think it would be nice. I wouldn't mind going back to the countryside again."

He shrugged his shoulders, bobbing his head in contemplation.

"I suppose, but what about someplace…warm? Like Italy, Ibiza…Egypt!" he said with a wiggle of his brows, causing his friend to laugh.

"Those all sound lovely. But how would we get there?"

His face expressed confusion as he slipped another spoonful of rice in his mouth. Hermione sighed.

"I can't exactly picture Lucius on a plane, can you?" she said exasperatedly. Her eyes downcast. "We can't exactly use a portkey."

"Correction: _you _cannot use a portkey," Draco said with a toothy grin. She scowled at him, staring at her food.

Hermione Granger had many secrets. Secrets she would take to the grave, secrets she yearned to share with someone on stolen nights under the stars. Nothing was bigger than the one that weighed on her shoulders for the last three years, clawing its way up her throat every time she threw away a dish she clumsily broke, or the days she missed the tube to an appointment; it was a secret she both wanted to scream from the highest peak and keep nestled deep inside her.

She was pretty sure that the use of magic around her person would not result in a swift summons from the ministry nor her expulsion—there were squibs, for goodness sake; she was sure aurors would not pop onto her property and haul her away to a wet cell. No, Hermione allowed this idea to perpetuate the last few years to avoid feeling the absolute shame and jealousy that stewed in her, if she saw a simple charm. She planted the seed of possible expulsion into Lucius—which, at the start, was a genuine concern—and simply allowed him to forbid the use of magic within the walls of their home.

In absolute truth, Hermione was fearful of seeing the miracle that was magic because she knew it would never be hers again. She was fearful of growing resentful, of succumbing to an envy so strong it would not be swayed.

"Granger?" came Draco's voice. Her eyes snapped up to him and froze when she saw he grew closer. Those fair eyes pierced into her as he invaded her personal space and raised a thumb to her cheek. "You had a bit of yogurt."

Hermione blinked, watching him clean his finger on a napkin, and smiled when he glanced back at her with a face.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking the nauseating thoughts from before away, and standing. "Let's head back home."

They made their way through the short winding path of the park, slipping through alley ways they never used in hopes to find the nearest underground. Their noses caught the wafting scent of different foods as they walked past the employee entrances of several restaurants they never tried and excitedly made note of them for next time. Hermione had pulled away from Draco on the uninhabited street and turned several strides in front of him, walking backwards to talk to him, hands swaying animatedly. He watched as her brow dimpled when she ranted in annoyance about the pretentious husband fighting with her client over the parrot and how she clenched her hands like claws to express her frustration. He kept watching and almost walked into her when she abruptly stopped walking, her head snapped to the left and bag hanging loosely in her hands. He followed her gaze and felt his blood run cold.

A small, ill-kept cemetery was mere feet from where they stood; cracked and worn headstones protruded from the uneven ground haphazardly, surrounding two or three mausoleums.

"Granger?"

Hermione's head shook ever so slightly as her wide eyes darted from the trees to the stone, her breath quickening. She thought she was imagining them when they walked through the shady alleyway; she chose to ignore them. But now, as she stood the closest she's been to death in three years, Hermione could once again hear their faint whispers growing louder and louder with every heart beat she took, beckoning her to come closer, wailing for release from their torturous trek between here and the beyond the veil.

_It huuurtss!_

_ I want my Mum and Dad_

_ Where is my husband?! David!_

_ Can she see us?_

_ Can she hear us?_

_ Oh…she's something special_

Hermione's head jerked as Draco grasped her shoulder's tightly and her now wet eyes met his frantic and panicked ones. He grabbed her tightly and pushed her face into his chest, his gloved hands tightly wound into her head as she shook slightly.

"Hermione, ignore them. Just keep walking and ignore them. I've got you."


	17. Sleepwalking Past Hope

**Sleepingwalking Past Hope**

"Take me home," Hermione said in a shaking voice, barely above a whisper. Her eyes were glued to the cemetery beside her, widened in a mixture of fear and wonder; although she said to take her home, her feet pulled her closer to the eroded gate of the grounds. Draco grabbed her by the upper arm, tugging her firmly, to no avail; she slipped from his grasp and wrapped her hands around the iron, placing her ear between the cracks for a closer listen. "There's children—"

"Hermione,"

"They're so sad. T-they're calling for their parents," she muttered like a mad woman. Draco whipped her around to find her face wet from tears she didn't even know fell. He had enough. He grasped her tightly and, without thinking, apparated them to their home with a small _pop! _

When they landed in the courtyard in that small corner of London, Hermione swayed, and her hand shot to her mouth to stop the vomit; her stomach churned from the spin of apparition and she fell to her knees. Draco watched her fearfully, his wand at the ready, gulping a deep breath and mentally berating himself for the impulsive action.

The wind blew gently around them, the sound of wind chimes dancing lightly in the air.

Then, silence.

Draco visibly relaxed at the lack of ministry officials in the courtyard. They were safe. _She _was safe. His relief did not last long when the green door of the home slammed open and his father barreled towards them in long strides. The man's nostrils flared as he caught sight of his son's wand and he violently yanked it from his hand.

"_What did you do!" _demand Lucius as he helped Hermione to her feet. His face was bewildered as he saw the catatonic state his ward in, not blinking with streams of tears reddening her cheeks. "Hermione?"

"She heard the voices again," Draco explained, running a hand over his face. "The dead. We were by a cemetery, and she would not budge. I-I…I didn't think—I just needed to get us out of there fast!"

Lucius observed his son with stormy eyes; he could feel his blood thumping almost painfully in his neck, his heart attacking his ribs. He could see anxiety etched across his son's face—everything they had worked for could have been for nothing in a single second of irrationality. He glanced around, seeing they were alone, his anger only dissipating a miniscule.

"Get inside," he ordered. Draco did not need to be told twice as he rushed past, holding the door open for his father and best friend to hurry through. Hermione pushed herself away from Lucius and scurried to the half bathroom under the stairs; they could hear her wretch from the entrance and Lucius cast his son a withering look. Draco, too, looked green in the face.

"Father, I—"

"I suppose there goes that theory," interrupted Lucius. He leaned against the door, rubbing his temples from the oncoming headache. He could feel his blood pressure slowly normalize; his heart less violent. His eyes snapped to the bathroom door as Hermione walked out, wiping her face from running makeup. A heavy exhale passed her lips, but her face still looked on the verge of being ill.

"It's been so long since I could hear them," she muttered quietly, keeping her distance from the men. Hermione felt vulnerable; she felt like she had no control over her life, like her mind was being invaded by invisible beings and she could not say no…

_Three years ago…_

Lucius sat at the end of Hermione's bed as she slept motionless, his eyes casting over the offensive shackles that kept her arms and legs snug against the frame. Aurors came in and out of the room periodically and regarded him distastefully before returning to their post in the corridor. He could hear Sirius Blacks' vulgarities in the room behind him, shouting nonsense at the healers and verbally assaulting who he assumed was Snape. It was hard to ignore them. It was hard to not feel the disappointment when his perfect wife did not appear at the veil.

He stood straight when Hermione finally stirred, her head rolling side to side on the pillow, muttering incomprehensibly and tugging her arms. Sweat collected on her tightly knit brow as she opened her eyes to the brightness of the room.

"What…where…"

Lucius quickly approached her side, swooping down at her level and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Hermione, you foolish girl, you are awake," he croaked. He cleared his throat to fight the emotions that began getting the best of him. She slowly blinked and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Too bright."

"I know, dear. Do you know where you are?"

Her eyes lazily rolled around the pastel walls and she groaned pathetically.

"St Mungo's," she answered. Hermione pulled at the shackles again and whimpered. "What are…"

"The aurors have you detained here," he said in a hushed voice, eyes dancing towards the door where he could see half of a patroller. Looking back at her, he smiled sadly, laying a gentle hand on her riotous curls. "I'm afraid your plan worked."

She sobered then, her eyes fully alert, and a tired grin stretched at her lips. When she searched his face, seeing nothing but remorse and anything but happiness, her face fell once more, her lips pulling down into a frown.

"Who?"

"Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black."

She was quiet, staring at him for more.

"That it is."

"Lucius, I—"

Lucius shook his head and smiled kindly, his hand still coiled her curls.

"You are truly amazing, you know that, correct? You did the unimaginable. The gods could not compare," he said softly. His gaze fell to her chains once more, his smile faltering a bit before returning to her. She nodded, looking at the wall across from her, eyes squinting.

"Are they next door?" Lucius nodded, confirming. "Good, I'm glad."

"The Ministry…is not pleased, to say the very least," he told her. Hermione laughed airily, nodding again. Her eyes drooped a bit, exhaustion calling her again.

"I wouldn't expect so. I'll be sacked, probably imprisoned…"

"We will get you the best lawyers, Miss Granger," Lucius offered.

"Hermione," she said in a sleepy voice, smiling to herself. "I like when you call me 'Hermione'."

Lucius opened his mouth to speak before she jolted against her shackles, her eyes rapidly blinking as she looked at the door frantically. Her head bobbed side to side as if trying to see something further.

"Margot Fletcher," she said. Her mouth parted slightly, and she shook her head, turning to Lucius. "Who is Margot Fletcher?"

"I don't know. Hermione, what's the matter?" Lucius asked in a worried voice, his hand slipping to her shoulder and squeezing slightly to get her attention again. She leaned her head to the side, up, as if listening.

"You don't hear that? A man is calling for his wife. He sounds so sad," she whispered. Suddenly, there was a bell ringing in the hall, causing her to jump, and Lucius watched as several healers in green darted down the hall; instinctually, he strode to the door to watch the medical team run into a room two doors down.

"Mr. Fletcher isn't breathing!" exclaimed one before disappearing into the room altogether. Lucius backed up from the doorway, turning slowly to Hermione from the distance.

"Hermione, how did you—"

He was interrupted by a sudden body forcefully pushing him into the room, causing him to stagger against his injured leg and swear under his breath. Lucius' eyes shot up and mouth opened to curse the assaulter before confusion set in at the sight of Harry Potter. The Boy Wonder was clad in his official robes and that forlorn look all aurors wore hung heavy in his face.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said firmly. His eyes shot back towards the door and over a now sleeping Hermione. "Take her and go. Now."

"Potter—what?" Lucius ungracefully sputtered, glancing around. What was this boy playing at?

"She's not safe here. I heard the healers talking—Hermione's magic is not responding to any of their tests. The Ministry will have their way with her," Harry said, urging him with a bag of some of Hermione's belongings. Lucius froze, absently grabbing it.

"Her magic is _gone?"_

"That what they said," said Harry, stepping a little closer to the door. The aurors were making rounds on the conveniently busy day. He turned back to Lucius, an unreadable expression frowning his face. "The aurors are already talking. Without her magic, she may not be imprisoned…"

"But?" asked Lucius. He felt like his heart was about to rip through his cage and splatter on the floor. Everything was moving too quickly.

"But they could obliviate her," said Harry, his voice quivering and eyes shooting to his friend. His mouth parted as his chest heaved, staring at Hermione's peaceful form, oblivious to the array of repercussions that could befall her. "Obliviate and excommunicate her from the wizarding world."

Lucius fell quiet, the gears turning at rapid speed in his mind. Shaking his head, he quickly went to gather the girl, pointing his wand at her shackles, only to be met with resistance. He cast a look at Harry. Without a second though, the auror flicked his wand at the restraints and they vanished, allowing Lucius to scoop the young woman into his arms. He looked down at her, his heart thumping. He would not allow such a fate befall her. As he walked towards the door, he paused at the young man, reflecting so much of the boy he once tortured, a uncertain nervousness shrouding his features; Harry twisted the wand in his hand, stepping closer to see his friend, knowing it could very well be was the last time. He dipped his head by her ear.

"Thank you, Hermione, for being my greatest friend," he whispered as he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. When he stood again, gone was the boyish insecurity and replaced with the Harry Potter the world grew to know. "I'm sure you will come up with some sort of plan."

"I always do," said Lucius, nodding as he followed Harry into the bare corridor. He turned to him once more, studying the boy's face. "This will not be easy. She cannot know of this. She cannot come back. Are you sure you want me to handle this? You will not know where she is."

Harry blinked then nodded firmly. "Just keep her safe, Malfoy. Take care of her."

Lucius nodded once more before disappearing, unsure when or if he would return, but only caring about the now defenseless girl under his wing.

**A/N: Thank you all for your feedback. Some of you are so kind! I'm really liking where I have everything going so far; I hope the inspiration keeps coming. When I come home from work, I usually jump right onto my computer and start writing. It's been a real release. Some of you follow my other story Ghosts of the Past and know from those A/N's that I am going through a divorce. One that grew very nasty. Thank you for allowing me to disperse my stress into enjoyable writing for you all. Love! **


	18. Danse Macabre

**Danse Macabre**

Sleep did not come for Hermione that night as her mind was riddled with the lingering voices of the dead. She tossed and turned in her oversized bed, huffing exasperatedly at the yo-yo feeling between exhaustion and adrenaline; she whipped her feet around the edge and stood, carefully tiptoeing over Gully as he slept on the rug. He meowed lazily, opening an eye to look at her, then returned to his nap. She quickly padded down the hall, winding around the house until she came to the last room. Lucius' room. As she rose her hand to knock, his voice softly came.

"Come in, Hermione."

Opening the door just a crack, Hermione peaked in, smiling shyly at the older man. His room was grand—naturally—with deep emerald walls and black accents; his bed was massive with four posters to the ceiling, sheer drapes neatly tucked back, and a large window overlooking the backyard. Lucius had small routines that Hermione found both intriguing and endearing, like his display of robes and cufflinks hung beside a full-size mirror he prepped every night for the next day, and the way he laid his reading glasses in a book to keep his place. She glanced at him, dressed his in smoky robe and silk bottoms, reading glasses snug on his handsome face as he sat in his velvety chair. He removed his frames, slipping them into the book and laid it on a table. Hermione smiled warmly.

"Can't sleep?" he asked with a sad smile. Hermione huffed and shook her head before padding across his room and kneeling beside him, resting her chin on the arm of his chair to look at him. His smile deepened as he rested his hand on her head, twining around some curls. "It was an exciting day."

"Exciting, you say," she said with a roll of her eyes. The man laughed. "I don't need any excitement."

"Well, maybe not the dead kind, no, but you are young, Hermione. You should experience more," Lucius said matter-of-factly.

Hermione pinched her lips. "You said like Narcissa."

Lucius laughed loudly then, and Hermione decided it was a lovely sound. It tickled her insides. "If I recall correctly, she's always said that."

"Yes, well, she also said I should court Draco."

"She said _Draco _should court _you," _Lucius corrected as a playful glint twinkled in his eyes. "And I do not disagree. My son is a handsome and caring man, and makes you laugh. All things he learned from you, of course."

Hermione slid her cheek against the softness of the armchair, her riotous curls the only thing he could see. She felt her eyes grow heavy with the absent strokes Lucius' deft fingers circled over her scalp.

"I can't think of things like that, Lucius," she mumbled, partially yawning. She felt his fingers stop their caress, the slowly approaching sleep stolen from her.

"And why not?" he asked quietly, resuming his ministrations. He felt her shrug below him. "Well, that is not an answer."

Hermione turned her head to look at him once more, eyes up as she searched for the right words.

"I don't…feel good about myself a lot of times. I don't think anyone would understand—would _want _to understand the sort of baggage I have," she said, sighing. The words felt like acid rolling off her tongue. "I'm used to being so much more."

"You already know how I feel about that," began Lucius, his eyes boring into hers, making her shift a little. He sighed. "I wish you could see yourself as Draco and I do. I am not saying to run off and marry someone—" he frowned slightly "—but you are held up in this house every day with the two of us, you should get out more."

"I _enjoy _being held up here with you two," argued Hermione, a frown pulling at her face. "You guys are everything to me."

The impenetrable stone encasing Lucius' heart had slowly been eroding the last few years living with the loving and honest woman; there were rare moments that Hermione ever withheld her emotions from him and the rest of the time she spent catapulting him into a whirlwind of good feelings. Her affection was contagious, effecting Draco almost immediately and molding him into the rather sensitive man he was now—he was putty in Hermione Granger's hands. But when she said things like this, when she tiptoed across that threshold, he held so formidable, it made him feel things he did not quite understand.

"There is no use arguing with you, hmm, Miss Granger?" he said with a smirk. She grinned at him with her eyes closed and enjoying the tender touch. "I should know better by now."

They grew quiet for a bit, Lucius' relaxed back in the armchair as he softly gave Hermione the sensory comfort she craved. He learned this trick accidentally during a bizarre event in which Narcissa tried to tame Hermione's hair for a party, resulting in a rat's nest tangling her curls; Lucius had stepped in when his late wife uncharacteristically panicked and worked through her coils in between shared laughter. When he was done, Hermione's head hung heavily, and she was fast asleep. Over the past three years, on those nights they both were restless, the pair often found themselves like this, talking, Hermione sometimes reading aloud. He liked the sound of her voice.

"Are you ready to go back to sleep?" whispered Lucius. Hermione nodded softly then stood, half asleep, before dragging herself to his bed and plopping down. Lucius blinked several times as he watched her coil under his comforter. "Hermione—"

"Just…so tired…let me, please," she mumbled nonsensically. Lucius regarded her for a few moments, ignoring the thumping patter of his heart, absently rubbing his fingers over his lips as he watched her sink within the grand bed, entangled in blankets he usually kept so neat A soft smile graced his face, private and rare, before he extinguished the candles, sleep calling him.

Hermione woke the next morning to loud scratching against the door and jumped in a panic, realizing her alarm didn't sound at the usual time with the roosters. She made to dive off the bed until she was met with a dresser and froze in place, her eyes scouring around her at the emerald walls.

"What the hell?" she whispered, mortified. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment as she held them and scurried out the door but not before nearly plowing down poor Gully. "Sorry Gully! I'm late!"

Hermione stumbled into her room as she began undressing, tossing her pajama pants onto the laundry and rummaged through her armoire. There was a snicker behind her. and she whipped around to find an equally disheveled Draco Malfoy leaning lazily against the door frame, a playful smirk taunting her.

"Nice knickers, Granger," he said, raising his brows as his eyes cast down. Hermione yelped and tried to cover herself with her top, stretching it down.

"_Get out, ferret!" _she nearly roared. Her face visibly reddened as she felt her embarrassment deep further. This was it, this was how Hermione Granger died. Pure embarrassment at the hand of her former arch nemesis turned best mate. "I'm late!"

"Relax, woman. Father told your boss you wouldn't be coming in today. He figured you would need the day to decompress," said Draco, not moving from his place at her door. He yawned and ran his hands over his messy hair. Hermione rarely saw the Malfoy men fresh from sleep—it was a bizarre yet comforting sight. "She was okay with it."

"I—thank you?" Hermione said lamely. Draco shrugged and turned to walk away, but not before popping his head into her doorway once more, a grin stretching his face.

"You're welcome. Green looks _fantastic _on your bum, by the way."

"Draco Malfoy!" she screeched before scurrying to close her door. She could hear the mischievous imp laughing as he walked back to his room and she buried her face into her hands, groaning. Yes, there was _way _too much excitement in her life. When Hermione rose her head, she saw a piece of parchment beside her charging cellphone, and upon investigation, smiled at the neat handwriting.

_Hermione,_

_ Or perhaps I should say Invader of Beds? You were peaceful sleeping for once so I took the liberty of informing your superior that you would be absent from duties today. She held no qualms. Unfortunately, I have urgent business in the magic realm and will most likely not be home most of the day. Please rest and have Draco summon me if you need anything. There are strawberry Danishes in the cupboard. _

_ Also, I have a cufflink missing. I am assuming your fat familiar may be the culprit. Please inform him that his time here is limited if it is not returned._

_ Love,_

_ Lucius_

Hermione found herself grinning stupidly at Lucius' note. His stale humor was unusual to get use to at first, but she learned it was one of her favorite things about him; one just never knew the severity of his words when being playful. She sat on her bed for a few moments, gazing out the window at the cloud sky, her mind drifting to the happenings of yesterday, her face turning grim. Hermione once thought the day she could finally see thestrals was the most morbid day of her entire existence until the voice she heard at St Mungo's; at first, she thought nothing of it, that perhaps it was subliminal words she heard while unconscious. That was until Lucius had Draco take her to the first safe house in the muggleworld, where Hermione only lasted hours upon hearing the dead woman crying in the bathroom; Draco thought she was mad but she demanded he stay in the room with her while she frantically looked around, asking him hundreds of times if he could hear the cries. It wasn't until Lucius showed up, confirming that a woman once died in the home decades ago, did all three realize the gravity of Hermione's situation. They immediately vacated that house.

Then, there was the mortifying time Hermione took the Malfoy men past the old church her parents got married in, which was attached to a now disbanded hospice for the sisters. When she was retelling the story of candy-striping there during the holidays with her Mum, Hermione had shrieked midsentence, having heard the faint singing of a familiar carol one of the old French nuns of her youth sang when she visited, having known Hermione was learning the language. Hermione had nearly yanked their arms from their sockets as she tried to drag them to the condemned building, frantic, convinced the long-dead woman was stuck in there still.

The confusion that came with these instances held a heavy fog over Hermione's mind and rationality. She found it hard to decipher what was real and not real when she heard them—then again, the whispers _were _real; they belonged to _real _people, who were just not people anymore, stuck between planes for all eternity, teetering at the burning or pearly gates of the veil. Since then, Hermione avoided places of death like the plague, which she thought was ironic.

Hermione knew this cruel new sense was entirely due to her tampering with the balance of life and death. She had no magic, but sometimes she still never felt more supernatural. She never felt closer to death than she did at these times—except for maybe when she challenged the veil.


	19. Omnipotent

**Omnipotent **

Lucius emerged from the green flames and stepped through the threshold of Grimmauld Place, a gloved hand ascending to dust the soot from his velvety robes. His eyes took a once over of the living room and fell on the scatter of enchanted toys splayed haphazardly across the area rug, a telltale sign of the sort of mayhem the young Potter clan must cause. The regal man felt the melancholy nostalgia, his mind flashing back to the images of a young Draco prancing around mounds of toys he had to pull out all at once, crushing them, fighting them, making them float with spurts of magic his toddler body would exude during development. He wondered, for a moment, how it would have been to have had another child.

The thought was interrupted by a messy haired, scar-headed young man poking his head out from the other room.

"Mr Malfoy," said Harry, crossing the room quickly and extending his hand. Lucius shook it politely.

"Lucius," the older man corrected. Harry nodded, giving him a small grin. "It's been a while, Potter. Are you sure my presence here is a keen choice?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny and the kids are out of town for a few days, and Sirius is up at Hogwarts with Remus." The young wizard ushered Lucius to an armchair. "A drink?"

Lucius held a hand up and shook his head. His steel eyes regarded the timid wizard unwaveringly, and he leaned forward a bit.

"You are beating around the bush already, Mr Potter. Why did you request my company?" asked Lucius, combing his words finely as to not intimidate. He had no idea how Potter could wrangle in Severus Snape, gargoyle of the dungeons, but still cling to such formalities when regarding himself. Harry sat opposite of him, slouched forward with his hands linked and hanging between his legs, his piercing eyes taking the blonde in.

"Sirius and Remus have been very happy lately," Harry said, eying the poised man curiously. Lucius did not speak at first as he fought the urge to roll his eyes, but simply shrugged.

"Perhaps they have finally admitted their irrevocable love for one another after so many years?" suggested Lucius with that usual Slytherin slickness. Harry scoffed and gave the man a withering look.

"I know about the white house in the outskirts of London," he said in a quiet voice. Lucius visibly stiffened, his calculating eyes regarding the young man in thought. "I followed them that night they apparated from here. I…she looks good. You must be taking good care of her."

"I am. _We _are," Lucius replied, still wary. This was getting messier by the day. "Those three were sworn to secrecy about her. This does not change anything, Potter."

Harry sighed and slumped back in his seat as he mussed up his hair more. He rested his cheek in his palm, looking away from the man. "They haven't mentioned anything, so I think you're good on that. Still…something is going on that you're not telling me, Lucius."

Lucius scoffed. "Of course, there is, but you must remember my care is for Hermione and Hermione alone. There have been…developments that we are working out. That is all I will say."

"But do you have it under control?" Harry quickly quipped. His heat fizzled at the cold look Malfoy Sr cast him and he immediately backed down. "I mean…I _trust _you, Malfoy, but things always get messy. If you need my help—"

"I do not, but thank you for your concern," Lucius interrupted. His tone was cool and clipped. "Just know that she is safe and content. She does not need for anything. However, she has chosen to have _those_ three in her life—for what reason, is beyond me—so I trust you can keep a watchful eye on them on this side of the world. Subtly, mind you."

Harry sighed and nodded. "If they found out I've known what happened to her all this time, they would be pretty pissed. And it would be hard to be kept under wraps. As long as they believe they're keeping a secret from me, I can keep them in check." He frowned. "I don't want to make things harder for her."

"It has already been proven to be difficult for her," Lucius commented quietly, earning himself a raise brow. He released a sigh and rubbed his lips absently with a gloved finger. "A lot has happened. And a lot has yet to happen, I fear. However,…she seems to be happier when they are around."

The two men grew quiet, each contemplating the words spoken and the heavy silence in between them that spoke so much louder. Lucius would be a fool to deny that the feeling that has swelled in him, that he snuffed out each time it reared its ugly head, was more than unease about the situation: it was unusual jealousy towards these three undead men and the threat they posed to his _own _stability. To his _own _happiness. These conflicting thoughts washed over him as the cold realization of how selfish he was being dawned. Lucius mentally shook his head, berating himself in his old age; he should be happy that she was happy—or at least, possibly, on the path to it—and not warring with himself over potentially losing his role in her life.

He thought, for a moment, that perhaps it was the threat of losing his dominance. Lucius Malfoy domineered situations and people every day, always holding the upper hand and always in the position to make the rules. Just as he liked it.

But deep down, he knew it wasn't as cold nor toxic as that. No, he knew that he was fearful of losing _her, _entirely.

Lucius' eyes snapped back to Harry as the young wizard watching him curiously, a faint smile painting his face.

"I said, I can't help but be jealous that you all have her in your lives," repeated Harry, his smile faltering just a bit. "I really miss her—everyone does. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you and Draco for being her family all these years."

"Perhaps things can change in the future," Lucius said carelessly. He closed his eyes, cursing himself. _Where did that come from!, _he thought, internally seething. Harry blinked, his brow a bit knitted in question, but he did not press it. Lucius shrugged noncommittedly. "Life has a way of surprising us."

Harry regarded the man for a moment, a slick smile worthy of a Slytherin curving up his cheek. "That it does, Mr Malfoy."

_Hogwarts Castle_

Remus drummed his fingers absently against his chin as his soft eyes roved over the stone curved walls of an office all too familiar yet distant to him; awards and newspaper clippings hung particularly and perfectly against the walls, alongside some personal photos of his extensive family and friends. Neatly stacked upon the cabinet tops that lined the small office were piles of parchment and notebooks marked with green, red, yellow and blue labels, divided by days and times, further organized by last name, as well as deliberately noted syllabuses marked accordingly and placed atop each pile. There were a few other smaller stacks, their labels reading '_Incomplete', 'Needs more work', _or '_Class Example'. _The man before the beast hummed in content as he approved of his reclaimed workspace but was momentarily distracted as his eye caught a tattooed hand reaching towards his desk

"Why are you touching things, Sirius?" asked Remus, his tone mildly playful. Sirius' lips pulled into a thin line as he met his friend's eyes directly, one finger outstretched to the marble name plate that had R.J LUPIN emblazoned on it and pushed it a mere centimeter until it lined up with the seam of the desk.

"I was helping, Moony," Sirius said, revoking his hand and shooting his best mate a look. "I've learned your obsessive routines over the years. I know better than to wreak havoc in your controlled environment."

Remus' moustache twitched in fond remembrance of many a times Sirius' buttocks was struck with a quick zap from his wand whenever the rebellious youth would peruse his personal belongings or misplace something. It was a quick lesson the animagus learned, although resulted in a score of scorched pants. It was one of those things that brought them closer as friends growing up.

Sirius' eyes rolled over the rather Lupin chamber, his eyes twinkling. "I'm almost sure _she _would be in heaven if she saw your office right now."

Remus rose a brow. "Why do you say that?"

His friend shrugged as he absentmindedly fingered his goatee. "If she's anything like she was in her youth, I'd assume she has her own micromanaging habits similar to yours. Besides, did you not see her home? It was impeccable. Not a thing out of place—even her records were organized by year and genre."

Remusbrow rose further, his arms crossing as he eyed his friend further.

"You realized that after only a few hours there?"

Sirius shrugged again, tearing his blue eyes away from his friend and peering at the Order of Merlin, First Class, that glimmered behind the desk, only half interested.

"She's peculiar to observe. Funny little thing, really."

Remus said nothing but watched his friends' eyes wander aimlessly around, not quite seeing what he was looking at, but rather distant in thought. The look made something unfamiliar coil around Remus' insides, stirring Moony only a bit, before the man shook the unusual feeling off.

"She was particularly talented when I had her as a student," offered Remus, a smile gracing his face. Sirius' eyes snapped away from their idle gaze and onto his friend. The werewolf laughed as he ran a hand over his face, bouncing it forward as he spoke with emphasis. "_Every _essay she ever wrote was beyond minimum length; her hand was always in the air, and she was eager to help her classmates. At first, I thought she merely had a photographic memory—but she truly understood concepts and theories at a caliber beyond her years."

Sirius smirked, nodding in agreement. "I'd believe it. She was using a Time Turner that same year—hell, she saved me and Buckbeak with it, after all."

"It's really no surprise that she was able to resurrect us when recalling her skill as a thirteen-year-old," admitted Remus as he began rummaging through his briefcase. It was still the old and tattered thing from over a decade ago, its metal accents tarnished from the years, the leather worn. He pulled out a small envelope and offered it to Sirius, who rose a brow in confusion. "It's a letter for her. Could you send it out for me? I didn't think it would be smart to send anything to her from Hogwarts."

Sirius grinned and snatched the letter away, twirling it between his fingers as he offered Remus a quick wink. "Ah, writing sweet nothings to our dear savior, Moony?"

Remus sat at his desk and shot Sirius a dark look before returning to the remaining pile of essays asking to be graded, quill in hand.

"I'm sure sweeter than whatever boyish drabble you wrote, Padfoot," Remus sang, his eyes not moving from the splotchy essay before him. Sirius let out a whoop of laughter.

"O-ho! Now that's the spirit, dear friend. It's not very often you entertain my whims—I wonder why that is," he teased as he pocketed the letter. He grinned slightly as Remus' writing hand halted for the briefest of moments before continuing their ministrations across what looked like the worst essay ever written. Sirius eyed Remus for a few moments, knowing very well his friend worked hard to ignore his gaze, and he found himself soften at the sight before him. Remus still wore those comfortable cardigans and sweaters, like the one's Sirius use to steal from him on drafty nights in Gryffindor Tower, though these were less ragged and fit better; he could tell the button up underneath the man's layers was ironed with care, as well as his slacks, and his loafers shone. More so, Sirius made notice of how strong his friend sat, with his shoulders straight and lacking any timidity, and how his usual bouncing leg was still. He smiled, sitting down before the werewolf, who rose his head in question. "I am very proud of you, Remus."

Professor Lupin's moustache twitched again, is brow relaxing from whatever stress the poorly written schoolwork caused him, and his eyes found his friend's, seeing only sincerity. They fell from the cool orbs and he laughed lightly, rubbing his head.

"It's nothing, Pads," he said nonchalantly. Sirius shook his head, gazing around the chamber with a grin and his palms regarding all the wonder about them.

"It's _everything, _Remus," corrected Sirius. "You are where you should be."

Remus paused, staring at his all too in-touch friend, and allowed himself a small smile.

"Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius smiled deeply when regarding his best friend, but the warmth and love once reflected in it quickly dispersed as it was replaced with a curl, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Now back to Hermione…did you _know _she punched my cousin Draco in the face her third year, too?"

Remus blinked several times, a knowing silence shared between them. Their faces then cracked as laughter bellowed deep from their bellies and echoed off the high stone of the office.

"It may have been her proudest achievement!"


	20. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

**Should I Stay or Should I Go? **

To say Hermione was frazzled would be an understatement. Her hair was uncontrollable in the humidity, defiant curls sticking up everywhere even in her tight bun, with sweat beading on her brow as she stared determinedly at the glowing screen of her desktop through tortoise shell frames. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she tapped away at the keyboard, mouthing the words to the dozens of emails she was answering in mediation for her eleven-month divorce case.

"A bloody parrot," she mumbled in irritation. She jolted in her seat when a muted thud came from her window; as she looked over, Hermione froze at the sight of a brown owl pecking incessantly at the glass, feathers puffed from the chill outside. Her jaw dropped as she stared in disbelief which only caused the small predator to assault the window harder. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she jumped up and quickly allowed the bird in, glancing at her office door for any unexpected muggles. The owl swooped in on her desk ungracefully and released her small parcel; it puffed up more, staring at her expectedly as it blinked slowly. "I…er…don't have any food for you."

The owl hooted and Hermione flinched, holding a finger to her lip and waving her other hand. Swearing under her breath she dove under her desk and quickly retrieved a granola bar from her purse, unwrapping it. The beast didn't wait a beat before he snatched up the food and departed through the window, disappearing into the gray sky. Hermione released her breath and slumped back into her chair as she snatched up the letter, flipping it. She paused as another piece fell from its folds, causing her heart to thump erratically.

The faces of Remus and Teddy Lupin beamed up at her in a magical photograph. Teddy was clad in his plain Hogwarts uniform—colorless and unassigned—as his hair flipped between teal waves and curly brown locks, his eyes flashing between several colors, as his grin widened; Hermione could tell from the brief loop of the magic that he bounced back and forth on his feet rather excitedly, as he use to as a small child. Remus' arm was wrapped snuggly around his son, truly proud and even a little emotional from the vague glassiness of his soft eyes. Hermione's breath hitched as she ran her fingers over the moving picture. _He's gotten so big…_

_H,_

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I suppose my addressee needs no explanation, given the circumstances. Although it does feel particularly unusual…much like one of those muggle detective shows my mother would watch when I was a child. I think I like this._

_ I wanted to say thank you for being so kind and gracious to an old man like me—like _us. _I know you have known peace the last few years, so I could not imagine the kind of turmoil you may be experiencing now that things have happened so fast. If for a moment you doubt your friendship with any of us, I trust you'll do what is best for you._

_ Now, on to lighter things. I would ask more about your life, but I feel that may be a keener discussion in person. So, I will simply talk about my son. Teddy started his first year at Hogwarts! Unsurprisingly, he was sorted into Hufflepuff—he could not be more ecstatic to represent the house his mother was in. He is so intelligent, but most of all, he is incredibly kind and good. A little birdie tells me a lot of that has to do with you. Teddy has so many books you have given him in the past (even the ones he outgrew), and still has photos with you in them. I catch him staring at them some nights. I cannot help but to thank you for your help in raising my son for the decade I was dead. There is so much of him I still don't understand but every day I am learning more. Don't get me wrong, he is also _very _much like his Godfather and myself at that age: full of wonder, mischievous, and hopeful. But there is a softness to him that I haven't been able to place until these recent occurrences: he is tender, forgiving, and a fierce friend. There is a fire in him that simmers most days, just waiting to shine. _

_ Still, I am not looking forward to being summoned by Minerva in regard to the certain mayhem my son will be part of, if he is anything like his family. I've talked a lot about Teddy—I'm sorry, I get carried away about him. But I hope to see you soon—perhaps I can visit during the Hogsmeade weekend in November? I'll be relieved from duty. If you are free, of course. I will bring you a plethora of sweets from Honeydukes. _

_ I should get to bed soon—I teach Slytherin and Gryffindor in the morning, 8am sharp. It's been almost two decades since I had you in my classroom. It's funny how things come full circle._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Moony _

Hermione could not help the wetness that stung at her eyes as her fingers gently caressed the parchment. Her lips were raw from absently gnawing at them and she held the photo and letter close to her chest as if they were life force; her eyes closed tightly as she released a shuttering sigh and fought to keep the proverbial dam intact. She glanced back down, tracing her fingers over the young boy's flashing form.

She had truly loved Teddy. If she were to ever have children, she had secretly hoped they would hold an ounce of the young boy's essence. She could recall those awful days a few years post the great war where insomnia full nights became day, excruciatingly slowly, allowing the terrors and flashbacks to eat at her mind; she would find Teddy, barely four, peaking at her through her cracked door at Grimmauld Place where she would seek refuge, his big eyes full of worry and emotion. She would beckon him in and laugh to find a new book in his hand every time, urging her to read to him. She would concede, naturally—it was hard to say no to him. It became a ritual for a long time: Hermione was sure Teddy vaguely comprehended why she would barricade herself in Sirius' old room some nights—he knew the war that took his parents also took from the living—and he would wriggle his way behind her high walls with books, snacks, and drawings. It was a while before Hermione realized her terrors became rarer and rarer, but she still was absolutely enamored by the child. As he grew, she would sit with him at the table and read books to him that were far too advanced for a child his age—_"I like your voice Hermione!", _he would sing—and downloaded her knowledge into his all too willing sponge-like mind. She taught him to write and read, and even brought him to excursions in the muggle world to experience life on all degrees. The muggle Aquarium was his absolute favorite.

Quick realization dawned on Hermione and pulled her from her thoughts; she read over the letter quickly again until she came to the last few sentences. Her mouth dropped and she felt emotional all over again.

"8am sharp—he's teaching again!" she whispered to herself excitedly. Her heart swelled at the news. Remus was a terrific teacher, full of passion and empathy, and took sincere care when developing the minds and skills of his students; if she were honest, he was one of her favorites (next to McGonagall, naturally) and knew that, as long as he taught, the future of magical education was in good hands.

She read the letter again.

_Should I invite him by?, _she thought as she pulled out a notepad and envelope, browsing her desk for her favorite pen. When finding it, she brought it to her lips, running the button softly over her bottom lip in thought. _Am I really ready to have them as a constant in my life?_

_ You felt your magic in Snape, _came another, cooler voice in her mind. _This could be a key…_

_ But what if I'm not ready?_

_ You are Hermione Granger_

_ But…_

Hermione's honey eyes fell to the gold picture frame on her desk. It was a photo of Lucius, Draco, and herself in the stables at the hidden cottage in the country; Hermione sat atop a great dapple gray mare, nervousness etched across her face, as the men stood on either side of her, Lucius' hand on her leg and Draco's holding the reins. Their smiles were full of secret mirth to anyone who looked at the photo without context; it was taken shortly after Hermione's one-sided verbal spat with the incorrigible steed that nearly sent her flying into the hay. She smiled at it, remembering the day fondly. She was sure she never witnessed the Malfoy men laugh so much, especially Lucius, especially so openly.

Was she ready to uproar not only her life, but Lucius' as well? He has been uncharacteristically understanding during these exciting weeks, stepping back and allowing Hermione to feel the situation for herself instead of strong holding the way for them all. It was unusual, but she was grateful. Hermione never found Lucius controlling nor her boundaries ever crossed; he did not _allow _her to make decisions—he _accepted _them, and sometimes encouraged them, even after falling out with her over them. She appreciated his complete understanding of her as a person and treasured it.

Still, a twinge of guilt pulled at her navel with a crooked finger, washing over her with doubt alongside. Lucius Malfoy had sacrificed so much for her; he piled on extra work between worlds and homes just to keep her safe. He housed, fed, and cared for a fugitive of magical law, risking his own expulsion. Hermione could never forgive herself if this grew out of hand and he got hurt because of her want for more.

_He said it was your choice…_

_ He trusts you. Them? Not so much_

_Trust yourself, Hermione_

The internal feud was emotionally draining. Hermione sighed with exasperation as she pulled out two more envelopes and addressed them.

_Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. Severus Snape_

"I just hope they won't kill each other in my home," she grumbled to herself before pressing the pen to paper.

**A/N: Thank you all for your outpouring support and love for this fic. I'm so happy so many people find joy in it. I hope everyone's holiday was safe and kind. I hope to write more this week. Please remember this will be a multipairing fic; I honestly do not have an idea of absolute pairing, if any! So enjoy the ride. However! The thought of multiple endings have crossed my mind, so when the time comes for the end (whenever that is, no time soon, I assure you), there is a strong possibility there will be bonus chapters that will branch off at a certain point with alternate endings, good or bad—kind of like a Choose Your Own Story. See you soon! -Jay **


	21. Spinners End

**Spinners End**

Severus Snape was in a sour mood, more so than usual, and felt darker than he had in years. He stared at the mounds of autograph copies of his memoir that protruded haphazardly around his sitting room, arms crossed, and lips thinned. The small—_nearly microscopic, _even—empathetic side of him knew he should remove them from the room by three, but a defiant, almost proud part of him wanted to display his offending works while he entertained his unfortunate visitor. His dark eyes stared and stared as his foot mildly tapped on the dark wood, his angel and demon bickering internally.

He sighed and raised his wand. "Fuck it."

With a quick flick of his wrist, the looming stack vanished from sight, and the proverbial angel within the bitter man rejoiced over the small victory. Snape stared at the empty space before his eyes rolled over the cobwebs that strung in the corners of the room and empty glasses on the coffee table; he inhaled and scowled when he smelled the stale scent of whiskey that permeated his home. Swearing, he brandished his wand with feeling, instantly ridding his home of his evident delinquency and rebirthed it to its former glory—though it still was not much.

"What am I doing?" Snape muttered to himself as he sat, pressing his palms to his eyes. It was one week since Lucius came knocking on his door unannounced, looking displeased as the rainy day assaulted him in the doorway; since discovering his necromancer was still alive, Snape had immediately locked down his Floo, _especially _from Lucius Malfoy. The blonde said nothing to him and simply raised a small envelope, passing it to him, and disapparating from the spot. Snape had mixed feelings that stormed within him when he turned the envelope to see the familiar neat handwriting of Hermione Granger.

Thus, here he was, awaiting the young girl—_woman—_as she insisted on visiting him. He figured it was safe to assume she was still insufferable as she was in her youth. He found her letter both equally annoying and alluring, the latter reinforcing his annoyance, but he still found some sort of…comfort knowing that she took his feelings into consideration in regards to sharing a dinner with the two mutts, not pressing him. With that comfort, came guilt, a common friend to Severus Snape: he had been brutal with the woman, emotional, and unnecessarily cruel. His words bit her like a bull whip and came off his forked tongue so easily that night, so quick he didn't have a second to think of them. To restrain himself.

More so, he raised his wand at her! He attacked her, antagonized her, brought her to tears. But he could not help himself; it was all too overwhelming—between the discovery that Narcissa was who was wanted, the surrealism of seeing Hermione Granger before him, and the unusual power energy that overcame him at a cellular level. It was like being torn in a hundred different directions.

Why she would want to continue a friendship was beyond him.

A soft knock at the door jolted Snape from his musings, and he felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He stood quickly and made to answer it when second thoughts interrupted his strides.

_Am I sure that I am ready for this? _

_ I shouldn't have agreed to this_

_ That insufferable—_

Several more knocks came, a bit louder this time. He quickly shook himself from his stupor and opened the door with a creek, and, surprisingly, he felt an unexpected calmness drown out the self-loathing and anxiety in his bones when he saw her smile up at him. Hermione stood in a camel peacoat and rain boots, her wild curls extra riotous from the humidity of the rainy day. Her smile was kind, but wary, as she eyed him and glanced behind him expectedly.

"Come in, Miss Granger," he drawled as he extended a hand inside. Nodding, she shook her umbrella before closing it and crossing the threshold. She followed the light into the sitting room, her head turning to look about his home, which caused him some mild embarrassment. "It is not much, but it is habitable."

Hermione stopped and turned slightly, her smile not as hesitant as before. "It's lovely, though I did expect black walls."

Severus paused. _Was she joking?_

"Well, that ice breaker didn't work as expected," she said, mild amusement in her voice. Her eyes roved over the place again, her smile still present, before regarding him again. "How are you, Severus?"

Electric vibrated down Snape's spine when he heard her speak his name, his hair standing on end—he visibly gulped. He watched as her brow came together slightly, her eyes growing small in question.

"I am well. Would you like a drink?" he asked politely. She nodded, the grinned as she rose her brows suggestively at something on the end table behind him.

"I'll have two fingers of that, please."

Severus Snape nearly laughed as he ran a finger over his chin thoughtfully. "I am not sure how I feel sharing a drink with my former student. If anything, it ages me."

Hermione laughed, finally sitting when she felt the discomfort that weighed heavy in the air dissipate with her words; her back relaxed as she removed her peacoat and handed it to Severus' offering hand to hang, and she fidgeted a little with an unruly lock that continued to spring into her line of sight. After several failed attempts to tame it, she huffed, and looking up to find Snape offering her a glass of firewhiskey, his brow raised in a familiar way. He was watching her. She could not help the faint embarrassment that heated her chest, one that only deepened as a few more coils sprung from their confinements.

"I suppose when I think about it, I am not much older than you now, given the circumstances," he said quietly as he sat in a chair away from her. He watched as she brought the glass to her lips, pausing for a moment to mull over his words, before tossing it back and swallowing. He smirked as he sipped his own. Perhaps this would not turn out so bad after all.

The firewhiskey was two-thirds empty when Snape figured their empty stomachs could use some sustenance to help the burn and he had a small house elf whip up a starchy snack; what first felt like pulling teeth surprisingly became natural as their conversation lead to his small library that she insisted on seeing. He knew it was because of the liquid courage but he felt mild comfort knowing they both needed it to relax a little. Snape watched as she perused over his texts, a gentle well-manicured finger running softly over the spines as she mouthed the titles, pulling a few out here and there to inspect the cover before slipping them back in line; he was sure she had read most of them, given her bookish ways. He watched as she slowly made her way to the mantle of the fireplace with eyes widening as she stretched to see anatomical models of several small magical creatures displayed atop it; her hand trailed the mantle to the next wall where she examined framed works of Snape's past mentors. He sobered slightly when her hand touched a photo of him in his youth with Lily Potter brewing together their first year at Hogwarts.

Snape felt vulnerable in that moment and opened his mouth to distract her but snapped it shut upon seeing a soft, knowing smile curve at her full lips before she turned to him.

"You seemed happy," Hermione said softly, her finger lightly tapping the frame.

"I was…for the most part."

"And now?" asked Hermione, retreating her curious hands and linking them behind her. She turned from him and continued her inspection of his curio of medicinal and alchemic oddities. The air changed around them—Snape could feel it; gone was the lightheartedness of the past two hours where they spoke quietly and politely, even bantered a bit, and replaced with it was obvious disassociation. He felt her disconnect from him, her proverbial arm outstretched to keep it nonchalant.

Maybe it was just his slightly euphoric state, but Snape did not like this feeling.

"I am not happy…for the most part."

Hermione came to a halt, her back to him completely. He watched as the tension in her shoulders cracked, slumping slightly, and she brought a hand to her forehead as she sighed. She turned to him with a frown and slight wetness to her eyes as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. When his eyes found hers, she immediately submitted, avoiding his dark gaze—this would not do. Before Severus could think, he cleared the space between them, and towered over her, causing her to close in on herself more, but her eyes rose to him when his hand touched her shoulder briefly.

"I am sorry for my behavior that night, Miss Granger," said Severus in a quiet voice. He didn't know what it was but seeing her doubt herself…it was nearly unbearable. He also did not need another reason for Lucius to have his head, especially since he clearly gave his blessing for Hermione to see him alone. "I was…upset, to say the least. I spent years convincing myself to hate you, when really, I believe all I wanted were answers. Why you did it…why you left. And when I found myself in a position to finally have some clarity, I was…disappointed."

"You were hurt," Hermione said softly, her eyes on his, unmoving. Severus' lips pulled to a thin line as he felt himself get lost in her gaze; was that what this was? Hurt? Rejection? He supposed that made sense, but also made it all the more embarrassing. He tore away from her with a frustrated sigh and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey to pour again before Hermione's small hands rested atop the cork, pressing the bottle away. Severus raised a brow at her, though she did not look at him. "I didn't intend to bring you back because I didn't believe you would want to. But I also had no intention of being around when I was done. I hadn't planned to live, to be honest."

Severus did not speak as he lowered the bottle back onto the table.

"I know it's not an excuse," Hermione continued, offering him a rueful smile. "I still hurt you, regardless. And for that, I apologize, Severus; I apologize for thrusting you into a life you didn't want. But…if it's any consolation, I am glad you did come back. I appreciate the opportunity to be your friend, regardless of bad we started—"

Whether it was the raw honesty or the softness of her words, Snape did not know, but he found himself compelled to touch her yet again; he wrapped his long arms around her small frame and pulled her close to him, his heart pounding like a caged beast against his chest. A rush of emotions overcame him—relief, confusion, warmth, some things unidentifiable—and he did not know how to process them all, but the energy within him urged him to hold her. He heard her sharply inhale and felt her hands press against him, curling into his shirt. Suddenly, a great warmth began burning in his chest again, though a bit uncomfortably, were he to admit. He looked down at the young woman before him as she pulled away slightly, his face reddening though unable to bring himself to protest as she absently unbuttoned his shirt to better see a greenish-yellow glow under his hair and skin. Hermione's mouth parted as she rose a shaky hand to his skin again, feeling the pulsating heat, its glow reflected in her eyes as they snapped back up to Snape, a nervous smile pulling at her lips as she released a breathy laugh. He could not help himself. He smiled back at her, softly and natural.

There was absolutely no way he could be angry with the incredible woman before him any longer. Whether it was due to her magic coursing within him or something more, he did not care, as long as he was able to keep her around.

In that moment, watching her youthful and enchanted reaction to the \phenomena that occurred between their touch, Severus Snape made a vow to be better. He vowed to wake up and live each day with grander purpose in full appreciation to the unexpected gift the young, magicless girl in his arms granted him. Starting with—

"Thank you, for your kind words, Hermione," he said sincerely, dipping his head to catch her gaze. A slight flush danced across her face and she nodded with a small smile. He frowned slightly, pulling away from her, ignoring the loss of touch, and buttoned his top once more. "I, too, should apologize. For my book."

Hermione made a puzzled look before redness completely overtook her features. Severus fought the urge to leave the room as he felt immediate shame; he wrote awful things about the young girl, and regardless of his previous defense of his words, he genuinely _did _feel remorse. He half expected the girl to rage, but when he turned to her to find that her flush was that of embarrassment, his jaw nearly hit the floor when he watched her pull a copy of his memoir from her bag, her eyes hopeful.

"Ah—well yes, you were quite terrible," she said with an embarrassed laugh. Hermione slid a rebellious curl behind her ear before shyly presenting the book. "But I thought you could sign it for me."

Severus blinked several times at her as Hermione slipped the books into his hands quickly. She was like a school girl all over again as she pursed her lips and looked at him expectantly, her blush deepening. He could not help himself; great laughter escaped Snape's chest for the first time in years, freeing him of the heavy weight he bore and replaced with genuine relief. He paid no mind to her confused and mildly bristled expression as he held his sides as he still laughed, scouring a table for quill and ink.

Yes, Severus was sure this would be the start of a very interesting friendship.


	22. Muscle and Matter

_**Muscle and Matter**_

When Hermione felt the sandman caress her eyes after a hefty serving of corn hash, she placed a receipt she found in her pocket in between the pages of one of Snape's published works and gently closed it. She looked up to find the man looking at her knowingly and she grinned, a little embarrassed. They spent the last hour silently reading across from each other, the soft tick of a great grandfather clock passing their time as the sun began fading. Her eyes cast up to it: nearly seven in the evening.

"I should probably head home," she said quietly as she slipped her tortoise shell frames into its case, squinting slightly as her vision adjusted. She found him flashing her an unusual smile and she made a face. "What?"

"The glasses fit you well, Miss Granger," he said as he smoothed his book closed, eyes unwavering. Hermione laughed lightly.

"Thank you, I guess. They're a pain sometimes."

"Did you always have vision problems?" he asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head and shrugged slightly.

"Perhaps it's due to your loss of magic," Severus suggested. Hermione shrugged again, absently brushing loose curls behind her ears.

"Lots of magical folk have worn glasses since they were young, though, like Harry," said Hermione, frowning. Severus nodded, but said nothing, still looking at her. Hermione felt a weird chill roll down her spine as she caught sight of something by the doorway behind him though when her eyes quickly snapped that way, she saw nothing. Her gaze returned to an unknowing Snape who had summoned his small elf to remove the plates and cups; her eyes hyper focused on the dark man, watching as his hands nimble hands flexed as he surprisingly passed the dirty dishes to the small creature, trying her best to avoid the hazy image that danced in her peripherals. She gulped as her hands twisted in her lap and when the image grew closer, faint whispers met her ears.

_My sooooon_

Hermione quickly stood with a small yelp which earned her a raised brow from her former professor.

"Miss Granger?"

"I…" Hermione zoned out for a moment, feeling cold breath on her neck and a gentle brush against her shoulder. She inhaled and smiled, stepping closer to Snape—to what she felt was safety—and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder; she was so distracted she missed the visible softening of the man's harsh features, and the way his lip curled into a faint smile. "I should really head out now, Severus, I'm sorry."

His face faltered a little, but he nodded as his eyes fell to his watch. "Yes, we don't need Lucius blowing down my door."

Hermione almost laughed but jolted in her boots when the house elf disappeared with a sudden _pop!_.

"Are you alright?" asked Snape, humor dancing in his eyes. Hermione blushed.

"It's been years since I have seen an elf, let alone see it apparate," she said quietly. She felt the cool grasp behind her waver, the whispers retreating to whence it came from, and her body and nerves began relaxing again. Composing herself, she was surprised to see a strange look on Severus' face. Was that pity? She waved her hand nonchalantly. "Walk me out?"

"Of course."

Hermione went to grab her peacoat from Snape but halted when he simply held it open, a brow still raised. She felt that unusual burn work its way up her neck as she was torn between biting back a smile and laughing at his similarities to another foreboding man in her life. Without a word, she slipped her arms through and adjusted, turning to him with a smile.

"I had a lovely time, Severus," Hermione said as she adjusted her bag and umbrella. She felt her cellphone vibrate within.

"As did I, Miss Granger."

"_Hermione," _she corrected, her smile widening. "I would like it if you would call me Hermione."

Severus paused for a moment, and she bit back a laugh as she could almost see the letters of her name float in his eyes.

"Hermione," Severus said in his baritone voice. He opened the door and watched her out, frowning. "How are you returning home?"

Hermione whipped out a tube card, waving it slightly. "The tube. And a bus. Maybe a taxi."

"Why don't you simply call on Draco or Lucius to take you home?" asked Snape, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. His eyes wandered out to the darkening sky, watching as less and less people walked about. At least it stopped raining.

Hermione shrugged. "If I apparate, it'll probably make me sick again."

"Sick again? You've apparated recently?"

"Er, yeah, but it was an accident. Draco just thought he was helping. It's a long story."

"Well, I suppose I will see you to your stop," said Snape. He quickly dipped behind the door and grabbed a rather muggle trench coat, draping it over himself and pocketing his wand. Hermione opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut at the stern look the man gave her before he offered his hand out. "Lead the way."

Their trek was only a few blocks away thankfully and Severus snuffed the street lights out with every step they took. He lived in a muggle area, but he knew one could never be too careful. He knew eyes could be anywhere, and the thought made his insides curdle; he realized he was so flustered by her visit earlier that he did not think about the chance of her being seen. The slip of thought caused an uncharacteristic anxiety sizzle within him. Severus found his hand tightly grasping his wand in his pocket as they walked silently beside each other.

"Severus?" came Hermione's voice, pulling him from his inner turmoil. His dark eyes rose to the bus stop sign and he came to a halt. Lights shone from down the road, illuminating the girl's face as she smiled at him warmly. "I hope you will reconsider dinner at my home next month."

An infamous scowl marred Severus Snape's face, and Hermione could not hold back her tinkling laughter at the sight of it; it reminded her so much of her youth, an image usually brought on by the late Albus Dumbledore. She heard the bus pull up behind her and she gave him a polite nod.

"Just promise to think about it," she breathed, cool air rising from her mouth. Severus only nodded.

"Safe travels, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a quick smile before ascending onto the bus, giving him a wave as she disappeared into the heads of the other passengers. Snape watched as the bus pulled away, its taillights becoming hazy before it disappeared altogether at a turn, before apparating back to his home.

Hermione fumbled with her keys slightly as she unlocked the emerald door to her home, her heart pounding. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it as she exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours. She fought hard to keep her wits about her since catching the attention of whatever entity was at Spinners End and felt her strength ripping at its seams the entire bus and underground ride home. Her chest rose and fell with each breath through her nose and out her mouth.

"Hermione?" came Lucius' voice from above. Her eyes snapped to his as he stood at the landing of the stairs, his brows knitted. "What happened?"

"It went well!" she breathed, shaking her head and giving him a reassuring smile. She could tell by the tightness in his voice he was ready to drag Snape out of his home. "Severus was great, it's just…"

Lucius descended the stairs and removed his reading glasses. He seemed relaxed, believing her reassurance, but frowned. "Just?"

"There's something _else _there with him. I-I heard it. Well, I saw it first, sort of."

The blonde's smooth façade cracked as his brows shot high and his mouth parted, evidently speechless. Hermione nodded.

"I _know. _I've never seen a ghost before—I mean, well there's the Hogwarts ghosts, obviously, but this is very different. It's…it's…"

"Scary?" Lucius offered quietly. Hermione shook her head.

"_Terrifying." _ Hermione's body began relaxing finally as the shakes left her and her breathing regulated; sliding her purse from her shoulder, it fell to the floor with an ungraceful thud, and Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, so much that she sought comfort in Lucius' arms. She wrapped her arms under his open robe and clung her hands to the soft silk of his sleepwear, finding strong shoulder blades to hold to. She buried her face into his chest and released a suffering sigh as she squeezed his form. Lucius responded naturally, linking his own arms around her and settling a hand in her curls as he worked circles against her scalp.

"Did you tell Snape?" he asked, his voice vibrating against her face. He felt her head shake and he exhaled. "Do you think you should? He may become…insecure if you dance around the idea of visiting him again."

"Eventually," Hermione said, muffled. "If things progress on a good path."

"I agree, Hermione. Good job for respecting your boundaries."

Hermione could hear the smile in Lucius' voice, a hint of pride. She knew it was sincere; he was glad she was not forcing herself into uncomfortable situations just to please others. She leaned her head up to look at him, her eyes scouring steel ones for any omnipotence regarding it all.

"Why am I seeing things now?" she muttered. "Is it because _they _have been around?"

"I wish I had all the answers for you, Hermione. I truly do," Lucius said sadly as he brushed a curl from her eyes. "We just need to be careful. I _am_ pleased to hear that you had a good time with the old bat—perhaps you can persuade him to meet here, next time. Considering we are apparition free at the moment."

Hermione nodded, still not moving from his arms.

"Hermione?"

"Just…a few more moments, please."

"Always."


	23. Black Dog

**Black Dog**

"What do you _mean _you're moving out?" exclaimed Sirius Black as he frowned deeply at his godson across the dining table. He watched as the Potters exchanged looks before Ginny smiled apologetically at the older man.

"We love Grimmauld Place, but we want a place of our own. Our family has grown so much."

"Do you feel cramped? We can always get permits to charm an extension," offered Sirius, holding his hand out as if it was obvious. Harry shook his head.

"We want to move to Godric's Hollow. I…" he trailed off for a moment as he ran a hand through his usually messy hair. His eyes cast down for a moment before returning to his godfather. "I want to fix up my parents' home. It's still been in shambles—I've done nothing with it since taking ownership after the war. I would like to make memories _there."_

Sirius sat like a statue as he stared at his godson with an unreadable expression, a single finger running idly around the rim of his coffee cup. He felt a strange feeling overcome him—his eyes stung unexpectedly—before he gave the young couple a knowing smile. He could not blame them; that house held so many memories for him, he could understand why they would want to finally build a life in the ancestral Potter home.

"I understand," he said finally as a smile graced his face. He blinked away the wetness that threatened his steel eyes. "I completely understand. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't miss you all here, under my roof. Especially the children."

"We will only be a floo away," said Ginny with a wink.

"Yeah, and before you know it, you'll have more godchildren than you can handle," said Harry with a laugh. Sirius' eyes widened and the redhead shot her husband a murderous look.

"You're—"

"_No!" _growled Ginny as she smacked her husband's forearm with a snap, causing the man to break into more laughter. "Three children are _enough!"_

Harry continued to laugh, his godfather joining soon after, increasing into unattractive guffaws at the reddening patches that scattered across Ginny's face as she huffed. She stood and grabbed her plate of crumbs, shot the two men a lethal look, and made for the kitchen.

"Harry James Potter I will _castrate you!" _she snapped before disappearing in the doorway. Harry gulped audibly, exchanging glances with Sirius, before they settled into low snickers.

"Three children really _are _enough," Sirius finally agreed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Harry shrugged as his laughter died down and his eyes averted to his mug.

"I wouldn't mind a big family like the Weasley's," he muttered. Sirius sighed dramatically as he stood and cuffed the young man's shoulder affectionately.

"Well, thank the Gods you really are moving out, then. I have enough greys." He offered Harry a wink and light chuckle before leaving the man alone to his thoughts.

Sirius stepped into the foyer and paused for a moment as his eyes roved around the ancestral Black home. Gone was the peeling, dark wallpaper, the musty stench, and unwelcoming baubles; it has become so bright and warm in the past few years, both visually and spiritually. The walls knew laughter. The home knew love. He felt disappointment fill his chest as he imagined the emptiness it will contain once the Potters moved into their new home; with the Lupins away most of the year at Hogwarts, he realized it would just be him within these walls once it begins lacking much of the laughter and warmth it nursed for years.

He imagined, for a moment, small children of his own running amuck on miniature broomsticks around Grimmauld; he imagined the small tugs on his trousers as he read or cooked; he fantasized about a faceless woman humming in a rocking chair with a baby and stealing photos of her in a garden. Sirius' wore a wispy smile as the fantasies melted with the next, his eyes still gazing around absently, his thoughts elsewhere as quiet footsteps approached him.

"Are you alright, Sirius?" came Ginny's voice, quiet and soft. Sirius blinked the haze away and turned to her, a slight pinkness tinging his high cheeks.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at nothing," she said, her eyes following where his gaze was. Her eyes rolled over, taking in the vastness of the estate, before falling on the man with a knowing look. A Molly Weasley look. She drew closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "You know you will always be welcomed at the Potter house, Sirius. You can see the kids whenever you like—we can have our own Sunday dinners."

Sirius smiled in return and squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Ginny. That means a lot to me."

Ginny looked at him sternly once more, tapping his arm. "You know, I hear you tell Remus all the time about him getting back out there and finding someone. The same goes for _you, _Sirius; Remus knew love at one point—but you never really have. You deserve to be happy, too, Pads."

She gave him one more look over before turning heel and padding back into the dining room. Sirius watched her go as he fought the uncomfortable tightness that scratched in his throat and he sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

"Bollocks."

Before Sirius knew it, he found himself half a kilometer away from the quaint white house in the outskirts of London. Everything was so vibrant and focused, even in the greyness of autumn, and the smells damp and rich with each twitch of his snout. He could feel the rocky gravel displace under his padded feet with every slow trot before stepping into the wet grass between him and the house in the distance. His ear involuntarily curved to one side as he caught the squeaks of nearing field mice fervently alerting each other of his presence before hearing their tiny feet scurry off through the green blades. He made a weird sound between cough and sneeze as his human persona laughed at the thought of Remus having to give him yet another flea bath after his trek through the country field

The green door of the house was clearer with every step and he felt a slight elevation in his heart rate; his shaggy form came to a slow halt as he shifted from leg to leg, whining slightly.

_What are you doing here, Sirius? _He thought to himself with a snotty huff. He paced a little as he panted then shook his coat free of the dew building up from the misty land. _You are not respecting her boundaries!_

Sirius mentally argued with himself as his paws took him closer and closer to the home where Hermione dwelled; he was so deep in internal struggle he did not realize he grew so close until her scent hit his nostrils and immediately satiated his nerves. Remus was right: she smelled so welcoming, so soft, and even permeated past the cologne filled air from the other blonde men. His nose twitched in the air as he sniffed and slowly paced a good distance around the property until he found a small bed of weeds to lay upon below a tree behind it. The black dog laid his head gently on crossed paws and huffed in content as a calmness quelled his nerves, his big eyes gazing up at the windows. A gentle weight pulled at his lids, an inevitable nap calling him in the future, but, for now, he fought it, and simply basked in the comfort he did not know he needed.

The shaggy mutt woke up sometime later when his sensitive ears caught wind of crickets beginning their song, a telltale sign of nightfall. He yelped as he jumped with a start when he felt a palm press against his snout and almost growled until he met the eyes of the young Malfoy crouched before him. The young man, who smelled like clove and sweet nectar— which was unexpected for a Malfoy, the dog figured—crouched before the animagus with curious eyes, his chin resting in one palm as the pointer finger of the other gently scratched the dog's nose.

"I haven't seen you around here before," said Draco, still scratching. Sirius felt the urge to roll his eyes, pulling his snout from his fingers only to have the blonde reach out and caress his neck. "Hm, no collar either."

Draco stared at him for a moment, still crouched, his loafers digging into the mud. Sirius observed the stains on the boy's rolled up sleeves and front, and sniffed: olive oil and cooking wine. He could also smell the strong odor of garlic from his long fingers, and the other herbs he clutched from the garden. The dog cough-sneezed again, humored by the unusual domestication of a Malfoy, which earned him a raised brow from the young wizard and slight frown.

"If you have a home, you should go to it. Might get sick," he said with a shrug. Sirius huffed and leaned his head down to rest once more upon his large paws. Draco considered him again. "My father doesn't really care for animals other than his stupid peacocks and the horses. If he finds you here, he may hex your bollocks off—if you have any."

Sirius barked loudly at that before panting and settling down again, amused by the boyish glint that flickered in the blonde's cool yet thoughtful eyes.

"I mean, I'm sure Hermione could convince him to keep you."

_Shit. _

"He won't be happy about it, but he rarely says no to her," he continued thoughtfully. Sirius was pleasantly taken aback by how carefree and unpoised his cousin seemed in this moment; he saw and sensed no edge to him, no reigns tightened in his casual form. He was cooking, that was for sure, which surprised the animagus by itself; but this boyish nature was refreshing—it reminded him almost of himself before Azkaban. Sirius' picked up his head when Draco suddenly turned heel to walk back to the house and settled down again when the wizard disappeared through the door. His eyes grew heavy again, and just as he began accepting the sandman once more, he heard the doorknob turn.

Draco stalked back across the stretch of grass to where the animagus rested and placed a small bowl of fat and grizzle from a steak, just bloody enough; Sirius could feel his mouth salivate—he loved those cuts in his beast form. Not forgetting himself, he looked up at his cousin once more, confused by the gesture. The boy shrugged again.

"It was just going into the trash, anyway. And it's better than the cat food I _was _going to give you."

Sirius huffed again. Damn right, it was.

Just when Sirius was about to chow down on the much-appreciated grub, he heard he door creak open again, and Hermione's smell immediately invaded his nostrils. His head snapped up and he felt his heart patter against his ribs when he saw her disheveled form in the doorway. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, curls wild and sticking on end from the humidity, with a grey woven cardigan covered in some flour wrapped around her, slightly hanging off a shoulder.

"Draco? What're you…" she began as she plopped whatever was on her fork into her mouth and slowly chewed. She paused when her eyes fell on the mutt laid before Draco, watching as its ears folded back and head dipped in shame. Hermione trotted down the path, barefoot in the grass, and closed the distance between her and her best friend, who rubbed his cheek absently as a slight flush spread across his face.

"It's a stray. He seemed hungry."

Hermione's soft eyes looked up at Draco in surprise, which only caused the young man's flush to deepen, and Sirius could immediately feel the blonde's body tense slightly.

"I'm not like father. I like dogs," grumbled Draco. Hermione simply smiled, figuring it was better not to tease her softening friend in front of their guest.

"Why don't you finish up dinner, Draco?" suggested Hermione. He nodded, glancing at the dog and back to Hermione, then turned to leave again.

"Just make sure you clean your hands. He's filthy!" the prat called back to her before disappearing inside the home again. Hermione's smile was glued to her face as she nodded at Draco fervently, still stuck even when she turned back to the black dog, before it cracked into snorting giggles. Sirius barked playfully at her, shaking his head free from dampness again.

"Oh, Pads, you really kept him going, didn't you?" Hermione whispered as she crouched before him. "Draco has a soft spot for animals—I'm sure that surprised you."

Sirius snorted but bowed his head, agreeing with her. He watched as her flour dusted hand reached out for his head and relished in the goosebump inciting scratches she gave through his wet hair.

"What are you doing here, Padfoot? I'm not complaining, just surprised. You could have just used the front door," said Hermione, amusement pinching her eyes. Sirius nudged his wet nose against her forearm before low crawling forward a few inches, closing the space between them, and rested his head in the crook of her arm. Hermione paused for a moment. "Are you okay, Sirius?"

Sirius released a low whine that turned into a frustrated grumble. What _was_ he doing there? All he knew was that he needed to get out for a little while; he needed to run, which he did, and feel the vastness of the world around him; to mull over his torn feelings from earlier before they ate away at him, just to forget it all once his pads hit grass. Before he knew it, he found himself so close to that little white house, as if it was a beacon to his very soul.

And maybe it was.

"Padfoot?" came the soothing voice of Hermione. His eyes slowly turned up at her, but he did not remove his head from her arms. He watched as her lips parted and brow came together, concern clearly written across her features, which only made him want to bury his face further from her scrupulous eyes. Her voice was soft and gentle, full of love and void of any judgment. "I'm here for you, Pads. _Sirius_. If you can't sleep and the days are too hard, my doors are always open to you. Why don't you come inside?"

Sirius felt a swell of emotion nearly burst through his chest, so strong that he almost transformed back into his human form, his control quivering. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her in this moment, but deep down, Sirius knew his feelings were not tamed. There was a leak in the bottle. It was an overwhelming day and he knew it was unfair to unload his inner turmoil on the young woman before him, who stayed away from the magical realm for a reason. He could not do that to her in good conscience.

So, instead, he stood to his four paws and barked happily, nearly startling Hermione. It warmed him to know his presence did not cause her any discomfort—the feeling almost snuffed out the existential worry from earlier in the day. Padfoot rose his nose slowly to Hermione's, wet and cold, and licked her in amusement when her eyes crossed ridiculously to focus on him. She laughed lightly before wiping her face on the back of her cardigan and casted him a half stern expression.

"Mutt," she said, laughing when Sirius' huffed and side-eyed her in obvious annoyance. She stood, wiping her hands on her legs, and glanced back at the house then back to him. A sad smile pulled at her lips as she studied the animagus with contemplative, knowing eyes. "Come back soon, Sirius."

He barked enthusiastically with his whole body then ran around her quickly before darting out into the darkening field before him, disappearing from Hermione's sight with a lighter heart.


	24. Think of Me

**Think of Me**

Teddy Lupin avoided the stern gaze of his Transfiguration professor as if he were an ancient Greek adventurer trapped by Medusa herself; his hair flickered to its natural state the moment she rose from her desk and rounded him like a hawk, and he audibly gulped. She stood before him, tapping her aged fingers expectantly on his desktop, and he decided to meet the fierce woman head on. Raising his light eyes to her wizened ones, he straightened his back and stuck out his chest with confidence, though visibly faltered when her gaze narrowed.

"Mr Lupin," she said in a clipped tone. He immediately lost some of his courage, and he mentally sighed, casting his eyes down again. "It is only a few months into term, and this is the third time you are in detention."

"I know, Professor," he began, absently thumbing an old carving from a previous student in the wood of the desk. He looked up at her again. "I can't apologize, though."

Headmistress McGonagall rose a sparse brow, pulling her heavy wrinkles back.

"McLaggen had it coming. He kept teasing that Slytherin girl and ruined her notes," said Teddy, fighting the whine in his voice he hated so much when he got emotional. "He is _always _bothering her."

Teddy thought he saw a flash of humor in the old Professor's eyes, but he thought better than to play on it; this was _Headmistress _McGonagall, not Aunt Minnie—he knew better than to step over that line. His father, Sirius, _and _his Godfather all warned him not to expect special treatment; in all honesty, he thought he had been receiving the complete opposite, actually. His last two transgressions weren't nearly as bad as this one, and he had to help grade and write lines for two weeks!

"Be that as it may, you cannot attack another student."

"But, Professor, they were only birds—"

"They could have been butterflies for all I care, Mr Lupin, it does not negate the fact that you decided, once again, to take matters into your own hands instead of informing the faculty," McGonagall interjected as she cupped her hands and huffed, her brow still raised. "As such, you will receive detention—_again—_and twenty house points from Hufflepuff."

Teddy winced and groaned as he dropped his head to his hands against the tabletop, shaking it, before speaking in a muffle voice. "That's been _fifty _points already."

"Yes, Hufflepuff definitely does not stand a chance at this rate," he heard McGonagall quip from above. Teddy sat up again and looked at his Transfiguration teacher with a frown which, unexpectedly, softened her own edges.

"What about McLaggen? And that Slytherin girl?"

The Headmistress eyed the young boy carefully, a curve tugging at her lip. "I cannot handle another detention with Mr McLaggen; he will be serving with Professor Sprout and helping her de-pot Mandrake root. As for Miss Lee, I hear you take _very _good notes. Perhaps you can offer her yours."

Teddy's face lit and his hair rolled between shades before becoming cerulean again, earning himself a half stern, half amused look from the old woman. He nearly jumped at the realization of his appearance and quickly settled to soft brown curls. McGonagall paused for a moment as she eyed him curiously.

"Teddy," she began, breaking the formality between student and mentor, and causing the young boy's brow to knit in confusion. "Where did you learn that jinx you used on McLaggen?"

Teddy's face burned slightly, and he gave her a lazy shrug. "I…don't remember?"

McGonagall regarded him for a moment before nodding and waving at the door with a suggestive palm. "Very well. You are dismissed."

Jumping to his feet and ready to bolt, Teddy quickly gathered his remaining supplies and pushed them haphazardly into his satchel, offering his teacher a quick, apologetic smile before heel. He reached for the door then paused, turning slightly.

"Uh…"

"What is it, Mr Lupin?"

"Are you going to tell my Dad?"

"No, I am not," said McGonagall, an unusual glint in her eyes. Teddy visibly relaxed, hanging his head, fully unaware of the smirk that played on his professor's face. "You will, when you report to him for detention tonight. Goodnight, Mr Lupin."

Teddy froze on spot as he stared at the Headmistress with a gape, his hair spinning between styles and colors again. When he pulled himself out of his stupor, he shook his head and darted out of the room.

"Dad's gonna be so mad," he grumbled to himself with a heavy sigh. "McGonagall definitely should have been a Slytherin."

"Don't let_ her_ hear you say that," came Remus Lupin's amused voice a few steps behind him. Teddy whipped around to see his father in full robes eating a bit of chocolate and watched as his brows knitted when he looked down at his watch. His eyes snapped up to his son and he straightened a bit. "Transfiguration ended nearly thirty minutes ago—what did you do, Teddy?"

"Err…"

Remus sighed. "Out with it, Mr Lupin."

Teddy gulped.

"I may have…ImayhavecharmedabunchofbirdsatMcLaggen'shead."

"I'm sorry, you what? McLaggen, again?" asked Remus, his tone full of disbelief as he stepped closer to his son, arms crossed.

"McLaggen was messing with Lee from Slytherin. He wouldn't stop no matter how much she begged him to. So I, er, interfered—"

"Again."

"Again," admitted Teddy as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I sent an _avis _jinx at McLaggen. It didn't hurt him, I swear! I mean, the flock kind of nipped at his robes and one _did _poop—"

Remus rose an impatient hand and closed his eyes, feeling the threat of another headache. "I think I heard enough."

Teddy hung his head a bit. "McGonagall says I'm to serve detention with you, starting tonight."

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher eyed his son carefully, his eyes slightly narrow and moustache twitching.

"I'm disappointed in you, Teddy. This is the third time since the start of term."

"I know, Dad, but I…" Teddy sighed with frustration. "I just can't _stand _that Gryffindor. He is _awful."_

"Well, he definitely isn't pleasant."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Teddy," said Remus, uncrossing his arms with a sigh. "Well, come along. Let's go back to my classroom."

"Erm…" started Teddy as his stomach audibly growled, causing his father to chuckle. "Can I grab some food first?"

"Grab what you want then meet me in my office in twenty minutes," said Remus rather sternly. "Not a minute later—and _no _pit stops. The Great Hall, then my office. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," replied Teddy in a deflated tone. He looked at his Dad for a few more moments, who only rose a brow at him.

"Eighteen minutes, now."

Teddy nearly swore but bit his tongue hard, knowing full well it would only add fuel to the fire. He nodded and quickly trotted down the corridor towards the dining hall, leaving his very agitated and very tired father in his wake.

When Teddy arrived at the Great Hall he quickly grabbed a napkin and some strudels from his house table, ignoring the whooping cheers from some of his friends and the crude hand gestures from a few Gryffindors; he especially ignored McLaggen's not so smug face as the prat glowered over at him through the heads of students. He was about to turn to leave before he remembered the envelope that burned in his satchel.

"Hey, Smith, can you do me a favor?"

"What's up mate?" asked his friend through mouthfuls of pudding.

"I got detention, but I need to send this letter out. Can you make sure my owl sends it? It's important."

His friend nodded and took the envelope, frowning as read the blank paper.

"There's no address."

"Tell him to bring send it where Sirius Black has been sending his letters," said Teddy in a hushed tone into the boy's ears. Smith stopped chewing for a moment then shrugged before slipping it into his pocket with a pat.

"Thanks, man."

"Any time, Teddy. You kicked McLaggen's arse after all."

Teddy smirked at his friend, the devious look only deepening when he finally caught sight of the prat at the Gryffindor table. The young metamorphagus gave the pretentious lion a quick wink, causing him to glare darkly, before grabbing some puffs and making a dash to the exit. He carefully looked at his watch as he trotted, mentally swearing when he realized he only had six minutes to get _all _the way to the other side of the castle for detention with his father. In this moment, he thought sending another jinx towards McLaggen's way would be so worth it, but pushed on down the corridor instead, stuffing puffs in his mouth. He smiled to himself as excitement thrummed in his chest—Teddy just _knew _she was out there. This just had to work.

**A/N: Happy Holidays all! As always, I am completely twitterpated by the amount of love this fic has gotten. I've been trying to plan the last few chapters of GotP but yall just keep reeling me in for this one. I can't believe we are already 24 chapters in. I hope everyone has a safe and stress-free holiday. My divorce paperwork was finalized last month, so now it's just the waiting game. This is my first holiday back in the states and now single, so it's been mentally draining. Thanks for all your kind words! -Jay**


	25. Three Little Birds

**Three Little Birds**

Hermione struggled through the door with large bags of take-out, grunting uncharacteristically as she kicked off her heels and shrugged her satchel off her shoulder onto the hard wood floor, her curls in disarray in her face. Lucius' form came into vision as he appeared at the top of the stairs with a confused frown pulling down at his face. Strutting down quickly, he grabbed the plastic bags from the small witch—err, muggleborn? Woman.

"You're home early. And what's this?" he asked, holding the bag up and inhaling the fumes of orange chicken and stir fry.

"It was a rough day. I left as soon as I could," she mumbled as she draped her peacoat over a hook. She pointed at the bags. "And _that _is dinner. I am just too tired—"

"Hermione," said Lucius, his frown deepening. "You do not have to explain. You had a bad day—and you definitely do not need to cook every day, even though I know you enjoy it. Draco and I are fully capable of making a meal for all of us."

Hermione rose a brow, causing Lucius to huff unexpectedly, although a playful glint shimmered in his eye.

"Well, _Draco, _I suppose."

"Uh huh. We definitely do not need a repeat of our first holiday together," sang Hermione as she followed behind Lucius to the kitchen. He paused for a moment and shot her a backwards disapproving look which only caused the young woman to laugh lightly. "Speaking of, where is the fer—"

There was a loud _crack! _and Draco appeared from apparition in the kitchen, stumbling slightly; his father opened his mouth to scold him until the young Malfoy whipped around with wide eyes, his usually slick hair rather messy. However, what really left Lucius and Hermione's jaws unhinged was the evident mauve lipstick smeared around his mouth and cheek, the missing button from his rather crumpled top, and flush that painted across his sharp cheeks.

"_Draco Malfoy!" _exclaimed Hermione with a mock disbelief, her hand coming to her chest at the scandalous display.

Draco's blush practically made him a cherry, reddening all the way up to his ears. He brought his hands to his hair and tried to fix himself up with little success.

"_Shut up!" _he said in a cracked voice. His eyes found his father's cool ones. Hermione knew if her best friend could crawl into an Acromantula den right now, be wrapped in web and innards liquified, never to be seen again, it would be a fate less cruel than the embarrassment she knew he felt before Lucius.

Still, it was just too good of an opportunity.

"Was it Astoria? Scarlet? _Parkinson?_" asked Hermione, smirking as she rounded on him, examining his disheveled appearance. Her nose scrunched up as she smelled the lingering perfume that wafted off his nicest coats. "Ah, Astoria Greengrass it is."

Both Lucius and Draco looked at her with stunned expressions, causing her to shrug.

"I can recognize the Muggle perfume she used to wear when I would see her at work. I complimented her on it a few times," she said nonchalantly, waving her hand.

"Either way, this is hardly the way to appear back home," said Lucius in a mildly scolding tone. His eyes vaguely flashed to Hermione and back to his son, and Draco seemed to be able to read in between the lines of his father's words, and his stomach twisted a little. Hermione was oblivious as she simply grinned teasingly at them.

"Oh, come on, Lucius—he's obviously having a good time."

"My point exactly. There is a proper way to court women, Draco; snogging like a student is not one of them," he said.

Before Draco could speak, Hermione came beside him and placed a gentle hand against his temple, causing him to freeze at the surprising touch. He turned his face slightly to look at her and was calmed by the easy smile she wore and softness in her brown eyes as she regarded him. With deft fingers, she easily tamed his post-snog hair back into place, immaculate as ever.

"You've liked Astoria since we were kids," she stated, her smile knowing. "I think it's good you're finally taking a chance, Draco. You should enjoy it, and if it's serious, you'll know."

Lucius watched his son visibly relax, his shoulders losing the weight of Lucius' words—it made the man feel slightly guilty for being hard on his son. But he watched curiously how Draco's mouth pinched into a shy smile as he bit back his excitement; he watched as Hermione's words and simple touch brought his son the type of validation Lucius knew he needed. It was an intimate moment between two people who cared the most for one another, and he could see just how much they have grown—as individuals, and together. Just a few years ago, Draco barely spoke to Hermione about these sorts of things; if he were to admit, Lucius realized Draco never really talked to anyone about _anything _personal, himself included. It wasn't until Hermione found a letter from Miss Greengrass forgotten in the living room did Draco finally open up about his feelings and concerns involving the girl, which soon overflowed into other, much heavier conversations that his son kept under seal for years. Lucius had no idea Draco felt so much, so _deeply, _until that night when the truth rolled off his usually forked tongue with the help of some whiskey; he realized that night, too, just how important Hermione Granger was to their lives—to their _survival_—as she quickly read the situation and welcomed Draco to her world under the stars with a record player and hot cocoa, where she spent hours coaxing his son's vulnerability. Ever since, the connection and closeness between the two young adults was palpable.

"What's wrong with your face?" asked Draco suddenly, the vulnerability lost and now replaced with his typical swagger. "Why are you smiling?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his son as he pulled himself from his internal monologue.

"Clean your face. You look like you were chewing crayons—_again."_

Hermione snorted ungracefully before ascending into loud laughter, grinning at her best friend.

"I was a _child."_

"And sometimes still are," piped in Hermione, flashing him a smirk. Lucius' brow rose.

"Well, aren't we in rare form today, Miss Granger? I don't believe I've witnessed such sass from you," said Lucius as he unpacked their Chinese takeout, taking a glance at their menu with a squint. Draco side stepped around his father, avoiding his piercing eyes, and turned on the tap to clean his face free from the lipstick stains.

"And you're home at a normal time," said Draco, glancing at the oven clock as he wiped his face clean. Hermione sat on a stool and slumped slightly, supporting her chin in a palm and pushing away her loose curls. She huffed and removed her glasses.

"My clients' parrot died last night. Now with emotional distress, they are pointing fingers at each other even more than before, fighting over belongings that were once settled in their stipulations," she said hastily, feeling the frustration get the best of her. She rubbed her temples with her other hand, slumping further. "I understand it's upsetting. It's just a lot more work now."

Lucius nodded as he listened, divvying up the food. He paused when he passed her, her usual dish.

"Perhaps a vacation is overdue. A _real _vacation, not just a day or two of decompression in this house," he suggested as he exchanged his plasticware for silver. Draco came around and sat at the end of the island, nodding.

"We were just talking about that. It'd be nice to go away. I think we all need it," agreed Draco before he scooped a mouthful of stir fry into his mouth, humming in appreciation.

"Perhaps for Christmas?" said Hermione, her voice full of childish hope. Lucius' eyes rose to meet her almost pleading ones, and a chuckle escaped him.

"I think we can do that," he said as he smiled at her. "Where should we go?"

"Italy."

"The cottage."

Draco and Hermione exchanged heated looks which only caused the older man to laugh a little more openly as he shook his head; some things did not change between the two, at all. He tuned them out for a moment as his thoughts drifted once more (he was sure they were bickering about the location), his eyes soft as he regarded the two most important people in his life warmly, even though a slight frown twitched at his lips; Lucius had always thought, given the opportunity and timing, his son and Hermione would fall for each other. It was practically _all _Narcissa could talk about for a few years. At first, he could not fathom the idea: Draco and Hermione were just _too _different; Draco was difficult, high maintenance, and extremely guarded, so much he nearly bit a young witch's head off for approaching him to dance at a Ministry function a few years prior. He proceeded to mock her about the unwelcomed love notes she sent him at work and made the poor girl cry. He hadn't been in a relationship since the war.

Then there was Hermione: sweet, passionate, empathetic Hermione Granger—with a mean stubborn streak that rivalled any wild mare Lucius ever encountered in life. She was fire, raging dangerously yet so enticing, and they the moths. She spoke fiercely; she loved fiercely. She was the perfect balance of ferocity and calmness. The way the young adults would argue, it was unbelievable to think they were anything remotely close to friends.

_Oh, _did his late wife encourage them! A simple word here and there in their debates was enough to flare up either side, and she would sit, nursing her elven wine and watched on in amusement, exchanging knowing looks with a her rather disgruntled husband.

_She's good for us, _Narcissa would say. _Even for you, dear. _

And in time, he knew his wife was right. Hermione just meshed with them, a perfect balance of chaos and grace.

"That's the second time you've zoned out, Lucius. Very un-Malfoy of you," came Hermione's overly sweet voice. Lucius blinked away the haze and found himself being inquired by curious and teasing eyes. He rose his brows again, his face quickly slipping back into smoothness.

"Yes, you really _are _in rare form today, Miss Granger," he drawled in a way usual to his past self. Hermione's cheeks burned slightly as she chuckled, reaching for a fortune cookie, only to have it swept up by her warden. "Ah, ah, only good girls get desert."

"_Lucius!" _she exclaimed in between laughter. "That was the last one!"

He grinned at her as he quickly unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth with a crunch, much to the young woman's dismay, though she still giggled. Lucius watched his son watch their friend with a peculiar expression that was not unknown to him; he once saw it on Draco's face when Hermione was formally presented as the Head of the Department of Mysteries, and again when she spoke at the last Victory Ball they attended, beautiful in her burgundy gown. He knew if he decided to slip into his son's mind at this very moment, he would find no barriers, and he knew the kind of things he would see.

Then, Draco's eyes, twin to his own, met his, and they shared a brief look. The Malfoy's knew they were done for.

Harsh tapping against the kitchen window abruptly brought silence upon the three; the old owl tapped incessantly against the glass and hooted, its feathers fluffed from the rain. Hermione frowned and slowly came around the island.

"That's Sirius' old owl…"

"So?" asked Draco as he perused her plate for marinated broccoli.

Hermione opened the window and Bartemus quickly released the envelope, nearly dropping it in the sink, and quickly departed with another hoot into the misty sky. Hermione grabbed the envelope and turned it over to see nothing was written on it. Her heart began hammering like a jack against her chest, her pulse quickening; she flexed her fingers two or three times—a telltale sign of her inner turmoil—before looking up at the two confused men, whose eyes were glued to her mail.

"What is it, Hermione?" asked Lucius, a little stern.

Hermione quickly peeled up the flap and nearly yelped when suddenly several other pieces of parchment shot from within, twisting and folding themselves into origami birds, and flew above their heads with the fluidity of real canaries. Hermione watched with youthful eyes at the simple display of magic before carefully withdrawing and unfolding the letter and let out an emotional sigh. The sniffles quickly invaded her nose as her eyes welled with tears and a smile torn between pain and happiness twisted on her face.

"T-Teddy. It's from Teddy."

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I hope everyone was safe and took care of themselves during this holiday season. I know it can be hard for a lot of people for various reasons, because mine definitely were. I hope this chapter finds you well. See you soon! Much love. **


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